


Blueberry Muffins

by caleco



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, F/M, Inspired by The Walking Dead, Slow Burn, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:22:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25856587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caleco/pseuds/caleco
Summary: Sansa Stark makes blueberry muffins after the world ends.That is, until a group of survivors stumble upon the Stark family’s farm, and her world is forced to change.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Gilly/Samwell Tarly, Jon Snow/Ygritte, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Talisa Maegyr/Robb Stark
Comments: 76
Kudos: 204





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s a weird-ass little Drabble for you guys! I’m a little all over the place right now in terms of school, so I haven’t had a ton of time to write lately, and this ramble in me getting my writing juices flowing again!
> 
> Because of this, I’ll mainly be doing little one-shots inside certain AUs I like. I have a few more ideas for this Walking Dead AU, if you guys would like to read any more SanSan Walking Dead ripoffs!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Let me know what y’all would love to read next!

She was baking when it all started.

Sansa was carefully folding the blueberries into the thick batter, trying to time it out just like her mother had- not too long of a stirring, not too short. Too much stirring led to bleeding blueberries, turning the mixture a vibrant green, and too little turned the muffins into a disproportionate nightmare. It was a careful balance, one Sansa had always watched her mother do as a child.

It was a bit harder now. The sugar had been snatched from a neighbor’s house on one of Arya’s runs, its package already torn into and contents half gone. The flour was one-cup less than normal, supplemented by oats. They’d been running low on it for a while, much to Sansa’s dismay.

It’s a little bit humorous, too- Sansa had never been much of a baker before the world ended. Her subpar baking had disappointed numerous bake sales and, of course, her own mother. But the task of baking had somehow fallen at Sansa’s feet, as Arya was always roaming, searching and pillaging, and Talisa was often too tired, her pregnancy reaching its final stages. And so Sansa found herself folding in the blueberries, brows furrowed and fighting back tears at the memories it brought about.

But this time, she’d completed just one fold of the batter before she was interrupted.

Arya was screaming their father’s name on the front porch, her fists hitting the shutters out front. It made Sansa freeze, her heart racing- Robb had gone out earlier, a rifle slung over one shoulder and one of the hunting hounds at his side. 

Sansa met Talisa’s eyes as she wobbled into the room, one hand curled around her large belly, the other gripping the doorframe of the dining room. Sansa swallowed down her own fear, wiping her hands on the dish towel as she ran for the door.  _ It could be nothing. _

__ Arya slung open the door before she could reach it, her face a rough grimace as she helped carry in a young girl.

“Sansa, get the guest room ready.” Her father’s voice was eerily calm behind her, reminiscent of the times he’d dealt with accidents on the farm. Judging by the blood seeping through the young girl’s shirt, pooling on her sister’s hands, dripping on the worn hardwood floors- this was much more than anything they’d experienced around the farm.

“ _ Sansa.”  _ Ned Stark said sharply, the bottom of his cane scraping against the floor as he hurried to the room.

“-didn’t even  _ see her _ , gods-” Robb was babbling, somewhere behind the people that had pushed through the front door, but Sansa couldn’t even see him. There was another man, holding the girl’s bottom half; as Sansa pulled back the sheets on the bed, she caught his eyes. 

They were grey, marred by curls of inky black hair, and they looked so  _ pained  _ that Sansa had to look away. 

“Can you help her?” The man said quickly, half demanding and half desperation towards her father, who just calmly pushed his metal table towards the bed.

“I can try.” He said firmly, not meeting the man’s eyes; but the man howled at that, slamming a fist into the bed.

“You  _ have to-” _

__ “I’ll try my best.” Ned said firmly, looking into the man’s eyes with that same eerie calmness he’d always had. Normally, it would be reassuring, but Sansa watched as more and more blood stained the off-white sheets, pushing towards the edge of the bed. The girl was still unconscious, her skin a sickly shade of greyish white; when Sansa looked closer, she could see a darker patch of gray on one cheek, like some sort of scarring.

The wound beneath made Sansa grimace, the bullet a nasty marring on the girl’s abdomen. 

“It wasn’t a clean shot.” Her father said firmly, and Sansa could practically hear the man grinding his teeth, his fists clenched into the blankets.

As her father began to work, Robb came into the room, tears still streaking down his tanned face, that look of horror still ingrained in his eyes. His voice was barely a whisper when it began.

“I- I didn’t even see her.” He said, his brows furrowed. “I just saw the doe, and just took the shot, and she was standing  _ right behind it  _ and-”

He stopped as Talisa placed a hand on his shoulder, her face turned away from the girl on the bed. There wasn’t much to be said, not any reassurances to be given at the moment; not with the man in front of them, clutching the girl’s hand tightly.

Some filtered in and out of the room as her father worked; Arya brought a few pieces of clothing that she had outgrown, her offering more of an optimistic gift than anything. Talisa brought new pitchers of water, and Robb came back in to pace back and forth, wearing the wooden floor beneath him. Sansa even heard Bran outside the door at one point, his lame foot dragging slightly against the floor.

Sansa stayed by her father, directing the light towards the wound, handing him the materials he needed. She was thankful that the intensity of the light drowned out the man’s face across from her, so she didn’t have to look at his anguish, wondering if they were making the right moves.

“My people.” The man said finally, but Sansa kept her eyes down at the bullet-wound, watching her father’s steady hands as he deftly pulled out more shrapnel. 

“They’re down by the road. The highway. We were just out looking for more supplies… they don’t know we’re here.” The man said, his voice trailing off. “Or what happened.”

“Arya could go get them.” Sansa said quickly, shooting her father a quick look; she saw the side of his lip twinge downward, his brow become slightly more furrowed; his careful hand had paused.

“I would appreciate that.” The man said.

“Sansa-” Her father said, likely to shut the notion down, but Sansa dug her heels in.

“Robb accidentally shot this man’s daughter. It’s the least we can do.” Sansa hissed, her free hand curling into her shirt. Her father had warned them endlessly of the world out there, the world that existed now, after the disease had started. But they hadn’t seen anyone in months, their town practically wiped from the map- besides, if the man had a daughter, he surely couldn’t be  _ that  _ terrible, she reasoned. 

At the mention of her name, Arya had peeked her head in, her mouth set in a hard line.

Her father gave no further argument, and so Arya had set off, a piece of notebook paper map crumpled in her palm. 

“She’s not my daughter.” The man said quietly after a few more moments. Sansa blinked above the bright light, seeing the head full of dark hair across the bed. “She’s my goddaughter. Her father was a coworker of mine- a great man. He was a great man.”

Sansa saw the sheriff’s hat on the corner of the bed just then, pushed to the side in all the commotion. The cowboy-esque hat was untouched by the bloodshed, but worn and weathered nonetheless.

“You were a sheriff?” Sansa asked quietly, careful not to disturb her father as she nodded to the hat. The man nodded, his grey eyes heavy.

“King County, a few hours from here.” The man explained, still wringing his spare hand in the bloodied bedsheet. 

“I haven’t seen a cop in a long while.” Sansa said, a small smile on her face as she attempted to lighten the mood; the man gave a small, forced turn of his lips in return.

“My name is Sansa.” She said, nodding her head towards him.

“Jon,” He said simply, sighing deeply into himself.

Half an hour later, when Sansa’s shoulders were aching, her head throbbing, her father finally leaned back into his chair with a sigh.

“She’s stable.” He said simply.

The man- Jon- seemed unsatisfied with the answer, the grimace still on his face.

“Will she recover?” He asked, finally letting the girl’s hand drop to the bed.

“That, I do not know.” Ned said simply, a straight-forward man. In the afternoon light, the grey in his hair was even more pronounced, the wrinkles around his eyes strained and prominent. “We need more antibiotics, more than anything.”

Sansa nodded, thinking of the near-empty medical cabinet upstairs. They’d mainly been stocking for Talisa lately, not having much of a need themselves for the medicine. Although the pharmacy was nearby, Ned had urged them to take only what they needed, and save the rest for those that truly needed them. In this world, it was a luxury most did not get.

Before her father could continue, the front screen door creaked open, the sound drawing all attention to the front of the house.

“The others are coming.” Arya said, popping back into the guest room. Other than her father, Arya was probably the calmest one in the house, seemingly unaffected other than the hard line in her forehead, the tell-tale stress.

“This one came on a bike. Got here hell of a lot quicker.” She continued, throwing a thumb over her shoulder to the doorway- and in walked one of the largest men Sansa had ever seen.

He was massive, taking up most of the doorway as he ducked into the room- Sansa could see the muscles tensing in his arms, as if he were primed for a fight at any moment; his face was even worse, half of it just a marring of nasty, deep scars. The other side showed a chiseled jawline and a strong nose, all shadowed by a furrowed brow and angry, swirling grey eyes.

Sansa looked away, gripping the spare set of medical scissors tightly in her hands.

The man just stared down at the bed, his mouth still in a hardened, angry scowl- he didn’t seem the type to howl and cry, to sob out his sorrows, but the stillness was still unnerving in itself.

“She’s stable.” Jon told the man, reaching out to squeeze the unconscious girl’s hand.

The man just nodded, and Sansa could’ve sworn she saw a tremble in his bottom lip.

“We need more antibiotics, however.” Her father said simply, seemingly unphased by the unfamiliar men in front of them.

“I’ll get it.” The man spoke up, his voice deep and raspy, a sound that sent an odd chill down Sansa’s spine. 

“Are you sure?” Jon said, his voice strong and clear, contrasting the grieving man they’d been introduced to earlier.

“ ‘Course.” Was the only grumbling reply, but Jon just nodded, accepting it.

Sansa bit her lip, thinking through the logistics- she was the only one in the house that had a history in the medical field, if you counted her studies; she couldn’t imagine the man in front of them knowing the medicines to find, let alone the fastest way to the pharmacy. She could ask Arya, but then she remembered the group approaching the farm….

Sansa felt a bit ashamed then, her cheeks turning red- it was silly of her, to always assume the worst of people, but she’d heard the stories of the few roaming travellers they’d met.  _ It’s not the same world out there. _

__ They had a nice farm, a nice, large piece of land, a nice vantage point to hide from the diseased. It was worth everything, in today’s time, and what if Jon’s group thought that, too? They couldn’t trust strangers anymore, and Sansa couldn’t let Arya leave them behind, with only Robb there to truly protect them. They both needed to stay.

“I’ll go, too.” Sansa said firmly, almost knocking over the metal tray in front of her as she stood.

“That’s ridiculous-” Arya started, but Sansa shook her head firmly.

“You stay here.” Sansa said, staring her down with a firm look she hoped her sister could decode-  _ protect our family. _

__ Jon looked across the bed, silently asking her father for his thoughts; but Ned Stark simply pursed his lips into a thin line, as if he were having to swallow down medicine he needed but  _ certainly  _ didn’t want.

“Get in and out, Sansa.” Was all he said, gripping her wrist in a firm lock. “Take the fastest horses, and only get what we need. Back room, in the-”

“-white packaging, next-to-top shelf, I know.” Sansa finished, hoping her words eased him a bit; but her father just nodded softly, his brows still furrowed.

Sansa led the way to the front door, tugging on her riding boots, the ones she kept at the front door at all times.  _ Just in case. _

__ She stopped in her father’s room, grabbing the pistol in his top drawer, the one with the pretty decorative white trim. She felt the man’s heavy presence behind her as she checked the rounds, shoving it into her waistband.

“Do you know how to ride a horse?” She asked finally, looking up to find his dark eyes waiting, his brow still furrowed. Completely unreadable.

\----------------

Sansa mounted Sugar, her favorite and fastest mare.

Feeling the horse’s limber frame beneath her brought her some shred of reassurance, though her heart was still pounding nonetheless. Normally it was Arya doing the runs, never her- she’d not left the house in over a month, if truth be told.

She’d given the quiet man one of their studs, a large, hulking black horse that was almost as brooding and quiet as he was. He was the fastest, but hadn’t seen near as many trails since her father had hurt his leg.

Sansa broke the horse into a gallop, shooting the man a look behind her; he followed quickly, with relative experience- so he  _ did  _ know how to ride a horse, she mused.

The local pharmacy was a five minute trip on a normal trot, relatively close to their farmhouse. In the gallop, she figured they could do it in two.

When she saw the empty sprawl of main street, her eyes began looking, her heart pounding- off in the distance, she could see a few lumbering forms, but as they approached the pharmacy, it was completely empty.  _ Thank the gods. _

__ As they came inside, Sansa held her gun in shaking hands, trying to calm herself as they rounded the many shelves; although he was a stranger, the man’s size brought her a bit of safety in itself. That, and the automatic crossbow he had in his hands. At every turn in the store, he was whipping around, pointed and ready- it was oddly graceful, something that he’d surely been doing his entire life.

“It’s back here.” Sansa whispered, pushing open the backroom door and cringing at the creak it made.

They both paused, waiting for the groans of the diseased- but there was nothing to be heard, just a deafening sound of silence.

Sansa ran to the familiar isle, looking at the next-to-top shelf. Once she could see the familiar white packaging, she started shoving it into her satchel, sighing to herself.  _ The girl will be okay _ , she told herself- and, if she were being honest, her main worry was if Robb would be okay. If the girl somehow didn’t make it….. Sansa couldn’t imagine how her brother would feel, especially as he and Talisa were expecting soon.

“They’re coming outside.” The man grumbled, his voice low and dark behind her.

“Got it.” Sansa said, clipping her satchel back together and throwing it over her shoulder. It was good, it was fine- they’d gotten what they’d come for, and now they could just slip out and gallop back home.

The man led the way to the front of the store at a breakneck speed, his long legs taking a stride that took two of hers to match; Sansa didn’t have time to grumble, feeling the medicine noisily shake around on her back. As he approached the door, slinging it open, Sansa felt her heart freeze, her words stuck in her throat.

There was a diseased, lunging at his arm while he looked back to her, urging her through the door. In the moment, Sansa wasn’t even sure how many diseased there were- she just felt her hands tighten around her father’s pistol, felt herself take the deep breath, hearing her father’s words, and she aimed and shot.

The man bellowed as she narrowly missed him, the bullet instead hitting right in the skull of the diseased that had lunged for him. It wasn’t the best shot she’d taken- the headshot had been more of luck than anything, barely grazing his head, but the diseased was down and the man was not, and that was what mattered.

“What the  _ fuck  _ was that?” The man yelled angrily as she ran past him, her hands still shaking as she rounded the building to find her mare.

“I- excuse me?” Sansa said, her words pitifully shaky as she shot a glance behind her.

“You almost fuckin’ killed me!” He snarled, his words dripping with venom, his teeth gritted like a dog.

“I saved your life!” Sansa hissed, a sharp comment that was very out of character for her.

The man sneered as he threw himself over his horse, shaking his head. “You think I can’t take down one of those cunts myself?”

Sansa just gritted her teeth, swallowing down the fire in her chest. She kicked her heels into Sugar, her fingernails cutting into her palms as she tried not to let it get to her.

_ What an awful man. _

__ \--------------

When they returned to the farm, Sansa took off into the farmhouse, not bothering to spare another glance at the man. She came into the guest room, surprised to see the girl blinking up at her.

“Here you go,” Sansa said, shoving the medicine into her father’s hands with a bit more malice than she’d originally intended; he blinked up at her, but moved on, choosing wisely not to question it.

“Sandor, did he-” Jon started, standing quickly from the girl’s side. Sansa assumed the awful man was in fact named Sandor- it was an irritatingly fitting name.

“He’s fine.” Sansa said quickly, turning on her heel to leave the room. She needed air, more than anything, her hands still shaky from firing the gun, her chest still angry at the man outside.

When she walked into the dining room, the silver mixing bowl in the kitchen caught her eye; her red, plastic mixer was still sticking out of the blueberry muffin mix, begging for her to continue. 

Sansa sighed, washed the grime from her hands, and got back to baking.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you everyone for the response! I did not expect it on such a specific AU fan fiction. If anyone is a fan of TWD, I’m using the role of Daryl for Sandor, a cross of Maggie and Beth for Sansa, Rick/Carl for Jon/Shireen, Dale for Sam, and so on. Those are my main character role inspirations, but there will be more. I’ll also be following a lot of the same storylines as well!
> 
> Again, thanks for reading! I’ve also recieved a lot of comments hoping for a Dancing Queen update, so I’ll try my best to get that out this week as well!

It had been a week since the sheriff’s group came to their farm, a week since the little girl- Shireen, Sansa found out- had been shot by her older brother.

It was still odd, looking outside the large windows above the kitchen sink and seeing the camper out front, the collection of tents around it. Jon hadn’t given a number for the size of his group until they’d all pulled up out front. Ned Stark’s face had been stony, the normally warm demeanor giving way to a tense worry.  _ Only until the girl is healed,  _ he’d warned.

It was a different time, after all.

“Gilly said she and Ygritte would make dinner tonight,” Talisa said cheerily, as she went to dump another pot of used water down the sink. Sansa pushed aside her bowl of still-rising bread.

“Well. Gilly offered to, and said she’d talk Ygritte into it eventually.” She corrected herself, shooting Sansa a small grin. 

Ygritte had been the first to push through the front door, demanding to see the sheriff and his goddaughter; she’d looked half rabid, her red hair a mess around her face and a thick sheen of sweat on her face. The Georgia heat hadn’t been kind that day, and it seemed to worsen the frenzy in them all.

Sansa liked to watch the group, occasionally; it sounded creepy in her head, but she reasoned it by thinking  _ how few people have I actually met after the world ended?  _ Sansa could think of maybe one- a family friend that had been travelling through the area, stopping to check in on them. Arya and Robb had occasionally stumbled upon people while going on supply runs or hunting, but for the past few months, it had been an empty world to the Starks.

Ygritte seemed to be rather close to Jon, Sansa surmised- she often spoke up when he mused, quick to offer any and all thoughts she had. Jon was the leader, for sure, but Ygritte checked him constantly.

Gilly was a sweet woman, short and slight, and was quick to offer her help. She was often with Sam, the round-faced, cheery man that drove the camper. He had helped Sansa in the gardens one day, when she was struggling to keep the sun out of her eyes and her waterer full. 

Tormund was loud and brash, with bright red hair and a wild beard to match. He’d been right after Ygritte that day, bellowing for Jon and his goddaughter. They were an odd little family of sorts, all of them.

There was also Theon, the lanky man with a moppish head of hair; Robb had taken him on a hunting trip after a few days, once he’d recovered from the previous one, and they’d come back laughing and teasing among themselves, chattering like old friends. His sister, Yara, was much more reserved; she watched from a distance, and Sansa often felt her stormy eyes tracking her as she moved about the farm.

Other than Shireen, there were two other younger children, Jojen and Meera. They’d taken a quick liking to Bran, much to Sansa’s surprise; they were fast and spirited, hard to track down, but had taken Bran along despite his slowness. His leg was still a hindrance to him, but he pushed through it more and more, which made Sansa feel hopeful.

Her father, however, frowned at the sight. She knew it was unwise to grow close to such a large, expressive group, especially one that could easily overtake them and the farm. They were survivors, too, strong and armed to the teeth. But Sansa could only look around her and see the effect it had on her family- the help around the farm, the light in Bran’s eyes, the friendship Robb had found, the teasing between Arya and Tormund. How could that be so terrible?

But there was still one she hadn’t seen since that first day.

Sandor hadn’t bothered to show for the dinner Sansa and Talisa had crafted for the group; it hadn’t been much, of course, mainly homemade creations with many substituted, canned ingredients, but it had been  _ something.  _ She’d sat around the table that evening, listening to the others chatter amongst themselves, and she’d had to hide her frown behind her cup.

She wasn’t sure what she wanted. An apology? Maybe. An excuse? Perhaps.  _ Something. _

__ “Gilly,” Sansa had said calmly that evening, as they dried the freshly-washed dishes, the lamplight flickering around them. “Does Sandor take part in these kinds of…. activities?”

Gilly had laughed, her cheeks reddened. “Well we haven’t had a table to sit around in many, many months, so I don’t think we are quite used to it yet.”

Sansa had nodded, putting aside a cup. Gilly continued,”But he’s always kept mostly to himself.”

“Why does he stay, then?” Sansa prodded, feeling her own cheeks redden as she  _ knew  _ she’d pushed a little too far, been a little too curious.

Luckily, Gilly seemed not to notice. Or if she did, she allowed it. “He, Jon, and Tormund are all very close. They’ve been together since the beginning, really. I think it’s just a little harder for Sandor, is all.”

Sansa had finally let it drop with that, even though she had a million more questions brewing in her head.  _ I just haven’t been around other survivors in months, is all,  _ she told herself.

But she found herself a week later, finishing up her bread alongside Talisa, and packaging up the toasty edges into a spare cloth.

It wasn’t too hard to find him- she’d seen the little flicker of light in the far corner of their property, in the thick forest that led to the main road. He’d been camped on that edge for the entire week, close but far away.

Sansa had grabbed her father’s pistol, just in case. She hadn’t been off the property since the incident months ago, save for when she and Sandor had taken a trip to the pharmacy. 

As she approached, she took in his campsite, a torn tent haphazardly put up, yet a military bedroll sitting right outside its entrance. There were the kindlings for a small campfire a few feet away. In the trees hung long stretches of fishing wire, holding up the entrails of many small animals.

Sansa wrinkled her nose at that.

Sandor paid little attention to her until she was nearly on top of him, just a few feet away; she would’ve thought he was surprised, had it not been for the lazy turn of his eyes in her direction.

“I brought bread. Freshly made.” Sansa said, holding down her basket to him. He just nodded his head sharply, looking back at the small piece of wood in his hands. He was carving something, she realized.

“You aren’t going to take it?” Sansa asked, raising an eyebrow at him. She knew she was probably being rude, being bossy, as Arya was so quick to put it. But  _ he  _ had started it.

“Already ate.” He said finally, gesturing his pocket knife to the gutted squirrels, still hanging from the fishing wire, slowly swaying in the breeze. Sansa scoffed.

“That’s a poor meal.” She shot back. 

“You ain’t been out there, girl.” He snapped back, his voice suddenly rough and impassioned. Sansa took a step back, suddenly feeling unsure of the anger in his eyes, now fixated on her.

“We can’t all bake bread and braid our hair and shit.” Sandor continued, his mouth a snarl. Sansa pointed her chin up, in that same ladylike manner her mother had always pushed on her; he could be a nasty dog all he wanted, she was still a lady.

“I’ll have you know,” Sansa snapped, throwing down the basket of bread in front of him. “I  _ have  _ been out there. I’ve seen what it’s like. You don’t even know me!”

“A girl like you- you’re lucky you’ve been alive this long.” Sandor scoffed, his voice still low and raspy, his size suddenly a lot more intimidating than before. 

“I saved your life last week.” Sansa shot back, before she could tell herself to back down, to leave it alone- that wound was still festering inside of her, still irritating her to no end.

“You acted a fuckin’ idiot, is what you did.” The man shot back, standing to his full height. Sansa was forced to look up, past his broad, muscled chest and into the same scarred, angry face. She clenched her fists at her sides.

“How? You’d be dead by now, or worse, if not for me.”

“You think I haven’t killed one of them with my own hands before?” He scoffed. “You decided to go firing your gun like some bitch who’s never  _ been out there-  _ you just sounded an alarm to any walkers in the area, ringing the damn dinner bell on your fuckin’ farm.”

Walker. She hadn’t heard that one.

“There were only a few on the main street. It’s fine.” Sansa shot back, even though she suddenly felt silly, foolish. It was true, she  _ hadn’t  _ been out there long. She didn’t know how many lurked around the corners.

“There’s a herd of ‘em out on the highway. More than you or your family could ever handle. They’d rip you all to shreds.” Sandor said, that angry snarl still present on his face, but she saw a little falter in his stance, a small shred of guilt as he stated that. “ ‘S why I’ve been out here. Making sure they didn’t follow your little alarm.”

“They would’ve shown up already.” Sansa said, but she glanced back down as she shot it back, looking at the basket at her feet. 

“It’s not just the dead.” Sandor said, the anger out of his voice, replaced with a deadly warning.

“I know.” She whispered back, thinking of that time months ago, the last time she’d left the farm before Sandor.

“There’s no more knights and fairytales anymore, girl. They’d take everything from you.” He said, his voice a little smaller, and when she met his eyes, she shivered at the notion there, the clear indication of  _ exactly  _ what he meant.

When he wasn’t scowling, his face was strong, his jawline chiseled and his brow almost regal, in a way; if not for his scarring, he’d be a handsome man, she thought. 

But the scowl came back, and she reconsidered.

“If the dead were coming, if they were  _ following my dinner bell,”  _ Sansa let her voice take a dry, irritated tone at that,”-they would have already been here. So you should come join your group again, even if it’s just for tonight.”

Sandor frowned down at her, his scowl more prominent than before. She didn’t touch the topic of other survivors, didn’t want to open that still-healing wound at the moment. Eventually, she would, but for the time being, she left it alone. 

And luckily, he didn’t press the matter any further. 

“And before you do that, you need a shower.” Sansa said firmly, tilting her chin up to glare at him. 

“You smell like shit,” She added, a small shot that was purely for her own gain.

For a second, his face lightened a bit, half taken aback, half amused at the curse from her mouth. It was quickly replaced with his normal glare, followed by an uninterested grunt.

“I’ll see you at dinner. Gilly and Ygritte are cooking.” Sansa said, throwing a look over her shoulder at him as she left. She nodded her head towards her basket. “Eat the bread, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve made it this far: next chapter will be a Sandor one!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I’m floored by how many people actually want this oddly specific little AU :)
> 
> To address some concerns: I’m planning on taking some here and there from TWD storylines, but I’m definitely not looking to just copy/paste characters with GoT names. There’s so many great personalities from both shows that I would hate to write over, and I don’t have good fits for some TWD characters (like Shane, Andrea, etc.) And some storylines don’t make sense with the GoT characters. So yes, I’m planning to take it in a different direction, but follow loosely with larger ideas from TWD.
> 
> Also: I know I promised a Sandor chapter, and I will do it!!! But I really felt like we needed more exposition and explaining, and that comes best from Sansa’s POV as she hasn’t gotten to really ‘see’ the world out there.
> 
> As always, thank you guys so much for reading!!

Cooking dinner in the kitchen turned out to be quite the ordeal for the newcomers.

Sansa tried her best to stay out of it once her own part was finished- once she’d removed the cookies from the baking sheet, placing them carefully on the cooling racks, Gilly had already swooped in, swooping some sort of mix-matched casserole into its place. Half its contents had come from a variety of canned substances with faded labels and dusty exteriors, but Sansa tried her best to remain hopeful.

Ygritte, however, was a mess in the kitchen, grumpy at being pushed into the role from the beginning. Gilly had directed her back and forth, but Sansa still winced every time she scraped one of her mother’s mixing bowls too hard, or when the tip of her redheaded braid dipped into the gravy mixture.

When she slammed the oven shut a bit too hard, causing pictures in the dining room to rattle against the walls, Sansa had opened her mouth to finally speak up- but she was interrupted by the sound of the screen door screeching open.

She heard the heavy footsteps before she turned to face Sandor. He still looked grim, his brow furrowed and somehow even more disgruntled by his surroundings. Sansa tried not to look too hard at the dirt he was tracking in.

“The guest shower is right this way,” Sansa said, standing to lead him down to the spare bathroom. She paused as he shifted, bringing her attention to the strap across his shoulder.

“Weapons on the porch.” She said sternly, pointing at the crossbow still slung across his torso. Sandor frowned down his nose at her, a rather intimidating sight at what had to be twice her size; but Sansa remembered the way he’d gobbled her bread down earlier when he thought she was out of earshot. She stuck her chin up higher, daring him to fight back.

But he kept quiet, turning after a long pause to go back out the screen door and onto the front porch. 

When there was a loud thump of his crossbow on the front porch, Ygritte chuckled from behind her, a towel slung over one of her shoulders.

“Don’t think he expected something like you.” She said, giving Sansa a fox-like grin, all sharp and pointed. 

_ He shouldn’t have made assumptions,  _ Sansa wanted to say, but she decided it was not her place.

Once Sansa had led him to the guest room, she’d decided to root through her father’s drawers for spare clothing. She knew she’d hear about it later, but he’d been nice enough to lend a few old, worn pieces to Tormund. It  _ had  _ been at her insistence, but that was beside the point.

She found a few old pieces, a bit larger than what her father would normally wear, and hoped it would fit Sandor. He was tall, for sure, and seemed to be very well-built and muscular.

Sansa clutched the faded red flannel, feeling her cheeks warm.  _ That wasn’t something she should be thinking about. _

__ She pushed it to the back of her mind, grabbing a pair of jeans along with it.

By the time she returned to the guest bathroom, the water had already shut off. It’d only been a few minutes, which made her frown, but she supposed he didn’t seem the type to be interested in such frivolous comforts.

Sansa kneeled to place the clothes at the door in a neatly folded pile, but it opened at the last minute. She stumbled back, the steam of the bathroom hitting her square in the face.

Sandor was blinking down at her, seemingly unphased, that same scowl on his face. He had a towel around his waist, a bit too small, by the way he was furiously clutching it. Sansa snapped her eyes back to his face, trying to ignore the broad expanse of chest in front of her.

“Razors?” He grumbled.

“Oh- I, um,” Sansa stumbled over her words, trying to think.  _ Razors? Yes, I’ve got a few in my bathroom, but they’re pink and meant for girls to shave with and not exactly- _

__ Oh. Razors for his face.

“Yes! My father and Robb surely have some.” Sansa said quickly, her face probably a tomato by now; she all but flew from the hallway, making a beeline towards her father’s room.

She grabbed the spare razor from under the counter, cursing herself all the while. 

_ I didn’t expect something like him. _

__ \--------------------

Surprisingly, Gilly and Ygritte had prepared a rather decent spread of food, given the limited options that the apocalypse brought.

Sticking fifteen people around the dining room had been slightly more difficult, but Talisa had spread the company out with the children at the spare table nearby and the adults at the large wooden table in the center. Had it not been for Catelyn Stark’s insistence on a traditional farmhouse decor, fit for a large family and more, they would have been all eating outside.

When Sansa looked around the table, seeing the people talking, some grinning and laughing, some listening intensely, some grabbing for seconds, she thought more of her mother, and her heart felt heavy. It had been months and months since she’d passed, but there were days it felt like yesterday. With the way she’d catch her father looking out back, out towards the garden her mother had labored over for years, she knew she wasn’t the only one feeling that way.

Looking at the children’s table, with Bran’s broad grin and the chatter of young teasings just made her heart heavier. She wasn’t sure where Rickon would’ve fit into the mix, with his wild leanings, but she missed him nonetheless. 

“-and I took the lad down! Swear on my life, he was shooting at me like he wasn’t one of them!” Tormund’s loud voice overtook the room, drawing Sansa from her musings.

His party was exasperated, grinning and shaking their heads at his story. But Arya was enamored, practically leaning across the table.

“There’s no way!” She scoffed. “The dead can’t shoot guns.”

“He musta’ died pullin’ the trigger, then.” Tormund shot back, grinning wildly.

Sansa felt her father shift, a bit uneasy at the talk. A part of her couldn’t blame him- it was hard, dehumanizing the diseased and what lay beyond. But, with his injured leg, he hadn’t been beyond the farm since her mother had passed. 

She wondered if that was part of surviving out there, just laughing at the absurdity of it all.

Or, maybe they were just all a little half mad.

“This was before he met us, so he has no  _ real  _ proof.” The sheriff spoke up, a rare grin on his face; Sansa had only seen him smile a handful of times, and usually only with Shireen. He’d smiled so hard on the day she finally woke up, tears streaming down his face. He’d spent every night by her bedside since then, spending his days helping her father around the farm, and once she could stand on her two feet, he’d been at her side constantly.

He was a lot like her father, in that way.

Sansa’s eyes shifted towards the end of the table, where Sandor had taken up residence. It was closest to the door, a quick escape, and offered a clear look through the front porch windows. That choice wasn’t lost on her.

He was leaning back in his chair, his arms slung low around himself. Her father’s flannel shirt clung close to his arms, stretching when he shifted to listen closer as Yara pitched in her own story. 

She noticed he wasn’t any less on guard- he still looked towards the window, shifted so his ear faced the outside; she wondered if he was ever  _ not  _ on edge. Wondered if the end of the world had changed him, or just honed in what was already there.

He met her eyes through a few strands of his dark hair, a curtain that had slipped from the portion he’d tied up earlier. The scowl was still there, but weaker than before. Unsure.

“The cookies are wonderful, Sansa.” Talisa said cheerily, taking her back to the people in front of her.

“Oh, thank you,” Sansa responded, feeling as if she’d been caught with her hand in another kind of cookie jar. “We’ve been running low on flour lately, so the base is actually oat flour. I was also out of dark chocolate, so I had to substitute it with the white chocolate Arya had found last week, which I would normally hate, but….”

She realized she was rambling a bit too late, the table gone too quiet, but Talisa still grinned broadly, her own cheeks rosy and kind.

“They’re delicious, is what they are.” Theon spoke up, his voice muffled from the cookie in his mouth. 

Sansa laughed along with the table, but still found herself looking back towards the end, watching the man that still gazed out the window.

\----------------

Once the table had been cleared, the dishes washed, and the young children put to bed in the house, the rest found themselves sitting in the living room, now lit by candlelight.

“I figure I may not get many more chances to share it with others,” Robb chuckled as he poured a few fingers of his bourbon into Theon’s cup. It had been sitting on the top shelf of the hutch in the study for as long as Sansa could remember, yet another gift from one of Robb’s political pursuits. He was still a young man, just in his late twenties, but he’d had a promising career before the world had ended.

Sansa couldn’t blame him for cracking open the bottle.

“We haven’t seen other survivors in months,” Arya explained, grinning when Robb passed by.

“No,” He said sternly. “You’re only nineteen.”

“The world’s ended, Robb. No one’s gonna give a shit if I’m  _ drinking underage.”  _ Arya shot back with an exasperated sigh.

There were a few chuckles, and Tormund had given Jon’s shoulder a push as the latter grinned, his cheeks red. 

“I’ll let it slide this time.” Jon offered up, masking a grin behind his own cup. Robb finally gave in, much to Arya’s amusement.

Their father was quiet, even as he took his own glass; he watched the interaction with an odd sort of detachment, a warmed glance towards his family and an uncertain watchful eye on the survivors. 

“Me as well, please.” Sansa chimed in, just as Robb had begun to cap the bottle.

He scoffed. “You never drink, Sans.”

“Well,” She started, suddenly feeling eyes on her from around the room. “The world’s ended, hasn’t it?”

There were a few cheers, all hushed down by Talisa’s reminder of the children sleeping upstairs.

“Didn’t think I’d ever get to drink damn good bourbon ever again.” Tormund mused, shaking his head as if slowly waking from a dream.

“We’d been on the road for almost a month before this,” said Sam, his voice rather quiet and observant all night. He’d been kind, offering everyone a smile, but seemed to not exude the same assertiveness that the others did.

“I can’t begin to imagine.” Robb responded, shaking his head. Sansa didn’t miss the way his hand grazed Talisa’s stomach, likely imagining the world for their child.

“We had a place outside Atlanta.” Jon spoke up, his voice clear and troubled; the room seemed to focus in on him when he spoke, like his words were of importance. It was no wonder they all followed him, Sansa thought.

“That’s where I caught up with Stannis, my…” Jon drew off, before giving a small, weak laugh. “I guess he was technically my boss. He was a mentor for me, really, got me out of a dark time in my life. Before I was on the force.”

He continued, “He’s Shireen’s father. He didn’t make it.”

There was a pained expression on his face, though muted and masked as best as Jon could.

“He was a good man.” Ygritte mused, a grim, sad smile on her face. “He ran our little group for a while, out at a quarry on the outskirts of Atlanta. That’s where me, Sam, Gilly, Sandor, and the kids met. We were all goin’ towards Atlanta, ‘cause they’d been broadcasting that it was safe. Got to the outskirts and there was nothing but fire on that city.”

“They must’ve bombed it.” Jon mused, shaking his head. “Figured it was a lost cause.”

It was all news to Sansa and her family, another shock of the world out there- they’d heard a few radio calls about Atlanta, in the first week of the outbreak. They’d decided not to make the three hour trip after their mother and their youngest brother had passed.

“The camp outside Atlanta didn’t hold for more than a few months, and then we were back on the road.” Jon continued, and Sansa noticed the way he stared at her father, like the conversation was to him. Ned listened closely, his brow furrowed despite his effort to seem unaffected.

_ The road  _ didn’t sound like any sort of comfort, as open it was to interpretation. Sansa couldn’t imagine sheltering each night and praying for protection, praying the dead wouldn’t find you while you slept. 

_ Or worse,  _ she reminded herself.  _ Some of the living. _

__ At that thought she looked at Sandor, still perched on the closest stool to the door. He had a glass of water in his hand, dwarfed by his size; he’d rejected Robb’s gift with a small, stern shake of his head.

He was staring at Jon, his eyes faraway, remembering something Sansa would probably never know.

“We met up with Theon and Yara after that, and then Tormund. After he’d put the gunslinging walker down, of course.” Jon added the last part with a small, halfhearted chuckle.

“Damn straight.” Tormund shot back.

“We’d found a school outside Gainesville at that point. Hunkered down for a few months until it was overrun too, and then we started following the highway up and out of the state.” Jon explained. “We’ve lost a lot of people along the way, a lot of good people. People who didn’t deserve that kind of fate.”

_ We’ve been lucky,  _ Sansa thought.

“Then one day we went to hunt while the rest of our group camped by the highway. We saw a fine lookin’ doe, and now we’re here.” Jon said the last part with a grin, causing Robb to shake his head.

“Gods, man, I still feel like shit for that.” Robb responded.

“Good. Means you’re one of the good ones, right?” Jon shot back.

For a minute, it all seemed a little bit alright in the small world of the Starks; there were people, enough to really start a new beginning, a safe place within it all, and there was hope, more than just baking cookies and bread and muffins each day in hopes it would bring it all back. Her mom, her little brother, her entire old world.

_ It’s never coming back.  _ The realization hit her sharply, a swift punch to the gut, but it was soothed quickly by another thought.

_ But we have a new world, here. _

__


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, a long update here! We get into Sandor’s head (finally) and really get the wheels turning on this story. 
> 
> As always, thank you all for reading! I read each and every comment and absolutely love receiving them, especially ones guessing about what will happen next :)

He wasn’t sure how it all came to be, really.

Of course it all started with the reckless kid who’d shot Shireen. Sandor  _ still  _ wasn’t sure about that whole situation, and any time the dark-haired boy slung a hunting rifle over his shoulder, making his way across the property, he got a bad feeling brewing inside him still.

He didn’t even know Shireen had been shot until the scrawny girl, the youngest of the Starks, had come across their campsite by the highway. He’d shoved his crossbow in her face, demanding answers, but she just stared it down, a nasty scowl on her face. 

He’d been the first one at the farm, too, more scared than he’d ever admit to anyone. He’d been with the girl since the beginning, had saved her life on multiple occasions. She had a wandering streak in her, like a curious little cat, and he’d respected that.

“Cats got nine lives.” He’d told her one time as he pulled one of his arrows from the temple of a walker. A walker that’d gotten way too close to her. “You only got the one.”

He really thought she’d spent that one, too.

Sandor had pulled up on the farmhouse in a daze, expecting to have to restrain Jon.  _ Hell, I’d probably be right there with him. _

__ He’d walked onto the front porch, hearing the windchimes in the breeze, the creak of old, worn wood underneath his boots. And he’d heard the man crying softly, right on the other side of that screen door. A grown man, crying into the arms of his clearly pregnant wife.

Sandor had understood a little then.

Shireen had looked half-dead when he got there, and something inside of Sandor had just shut off at that point- it was about survival, only that. She was just another casualty, he told himself.  _ Just another thing to slow you down. _

__ That thought came with a wave of guilt, one that he shoved deep, deep down, right next to the sadness and grief.

He’d barely noticed the others when he entered, but when he looked around, the view soured him; they were all clean, well-dressed.  _ Safe. _

__ Sandor hadn’t even seen any walkers on the way from the highway. They were out here in a goddamn little paradise, safe and sound, keeping their precious little eyes off the state of the world around them. He didn’t shove down the distaste he felt, he kept that bitter on his tongue.

“We need more antibiotics, however.” The man by Shireen spoke up- he was some sort of doctor, Sandor guessed, by the bloodied medical equipment and the hard lines on his face. He was a solemn looking man, with dark hair peppered with grey. The head of the house.

“I’ll get it,” Sandor found himself saying, his voice hoarse when it came from his mouth. He saw Jon look at him with that familiar face, the concern mixing with gratitude.

He asked if he was sure, and if Shireen hadn’t been laying gray in front of him, Sandor may have chuckled.

Jon Snow had done more for him than anyone in his life ever had. 

“‘Course,” He responded.

Jon opened his mouth, probably to ask for directions, but someone else spoke up instead.

There was first a clang of metal as the tray holding the medical instruments was almost toppled over. It was loud in the room, brash and unwelcome.

“I’ll go too,” The girl said, and Sandor finally looked at her.

He’d seen her back when he’d walked in, surveying everyone in the room. It was an old habit, one he’d only strengthened after the world has ended. It was crucial to know your surroundings, crucial to staying alive.

She’d been so close to the doctor, so quiet and straight-backed that he’d assumed she was his wife. But when she’d stood, speaking up, he noticed she was in fact much younger. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, and she had a head of fiery red hair, bringing out the bright blues of her eyes. She was fucking beautiful, of course, because that’s the kind of things that could only survive by hiding away after the world ended.

She wouldn’t last a day out there.

The girl behind him, the wiry one with the bitchy stare, argued with her. He guessed they were sisters, but they didn’t look anything alike.

To his surprise, the redheaded girl pursed her lips, insisting she would go. She gave him a hard look too, and he knew his scars were clear in the mid-afternoon sun that shone through the windows. She didn’t back down.

He’d been even more caught off-guard when she’d shot a walker right in front of him.

She wasn’t a terrible shot, but something about the gun going off, the weapon in her delicate hands, the panic in her blue eyes, and the fact that he  _ knew  _ others would hear- it all mixed to make him angry. Angry like he hadn’t been in a while.

He’d been a dick to her. She didn’t deserve that shit. He could’ve taken it down quietly, could’ve pushed it down and stomped its skull in- but maybe he couldn't. Maybe the angle would’ve been off. Maybe he would’ve gotten bit.

That pissed him off more than anything.

Then the rest of the group got there, and they all had stars in their fucking eyes. All in love with the farm, with the shelter it brought, with the false sense of security.

He’d stayed on the outskirts. Partially because the girl had taken that shot and it had rang loud as shit, and partially because he needed to be ready. If for some reason there were people coming, he was gonna make sure his group was at least prepared.

The Starks, he didn’t give a shit about. They weren’t on his list to protect.

Until they were.

\-----------------

“I think it would benefit both my family and yours,” Jon said, his voice grave as he talked to Ned Stark. He had his flannel rolled up to his elbows, which were planted on his knees as he leaned over the coffee table. Ned was clutching his cane, an almost-sour look on his face.

“I’ll be honest with you, Jon, because you seem like a good man.” Ned said, his brow furrowed. 

_ And ‘cause your son shot Shireen,  _ Sandor thought, but didn’t say aloud. He was sitting in the armchair nearby, uncomfortable being a part of these sorts of conversations.

Jon Snow thought a lot of him, for whatever reasons he would never be able to understand. He should’ve left him to rot in Atlanta. It was the smart thing to do.

But Jon also didn’t always  _ do  _ the smart thing. He led with his heart, and Sandor supposed that’s why he was in on this talk. He’d rather be outside, patrolling the perimeters of the farm. His legs twitched, anxious to be moving again.

He didn’t lead with his heart. He tried not to  _ lead  _ anything, but Jon had been insistent that he’d be some kind of right-hand man.  _ Him. _

__ “It makes me nervous,” Ned said, tapping his long fingertips on the top of his cane. It had some sort of wolf on the end, a snarling, carved portrait. The Starks had some attachment to wolves, though wolves wouldn’t be nervous.

“All these people here….” Ned trailed off, looking out the windows. They were cracked open, letting the summer breeze drift through the house in a humid cloud. The kids were playing outside, Shireen’s shriek of joy followed by Bran’s laugh. 

“I once met a man in town, a few weeks after the disease had started. He’d warned me, had said that in the end, humans were made for one thing: survival. And that as long as you have what someone else could want, you’ll never be safe.”

“I wish I could tell you that wasn’t true,” Jon said, wringing his hands together. “But it is. It’s rough out there, no doubt. But we could use the safety here, especially with the children. And you could use  _ our  _ protection, as well, especially when the winter comes.”

Ned Stark frowned deeper, but not unkindly. 

“You can stay,” He said finally, but his tone said he was not finished. “If there are any problems, I will be asking you to leave my property. And if you are the man you say you are, you  _ will  _ leave.”

Jon stared back at him, respectfully shaking his head. He’d be a great politician, one that may actually do some  _ good  _ in the world, back when there was a world. It was almost surprising to know that he’d been a sheriff before it all started, something that would’ve been hidden had it not been for the badge he still carried on his hip, and the brown cowboy-sherrif hat that Shireen now wore daily.

The new world had molded Sandor into a killer, and a damn good one at that. 

It had molded Jon into a leader.

“Sandor,” Ned Stark said, shaking him from his thoughts. “I have noticed that you’ve been protecting the borders of our farm, and rather well. We haven’t seen a walker in weeks, and normally Robb or Arya would find one every few days.”

Sandor nodded, unsure of where it was going. He had killed a few here and there, before they could wander any closer to the group.

“My children like to roam. I trust Robb to keep himself safe, and Arya, to an extent. Bran knows not to leave the yard, with his leg. But Sansa….” Ned trailed off. 

Sandor thought of the redheaded girl, the way she tipped her delicate chin in the air, daring him to disrespect her again. She was fiery, he’d give her that. Not like her sister, who fought like a wildcat, but more like a smoldering, internal heat that he couldn’t quite nail down the source.

“Ever since her mother passed, she’s been taking on more and more around the farm. There are days I don’t even know where she’s gone off to, and that worries me. She’s not a fighter, not like her sister.”

Oddly enough, that statement made Sandor’s skin prickle, his chest feeling almost  _ angry.  _ It wasn’t like he should defend the girl- hell, he barely  _ knew  _ her. But she wasn’t near as much a weak maiden as she appeared.

Sandor opened his mouth to say something, but footsteps started down the wooden stairs, the creaking loud in the nearly empty house.

Sansa’s form appeared, as if she were summoned by her father’s words. She donned faded working clothes, her hair pulled back by a yellow bandana. There were a few strands framing her face, making her eyes bright. Sandor looked away.

“Oh, hello father, Jon-” Sansa looked around the room, taking a short pause. “Sandor.”

“Good morning, dear. Are you going to the gardens?” Her father said, his voice suddenly tame and sugared, nothing like the stern, bitter voice from before. He loved his daughter something fierce.

Sansa nodded, reaching the bottom step, but before she could escape, her father spoke again.

“Sandor will be joining you.” Her father said, the look in his eye suggesting that his statement would not be changed by Sandor’s response- and when Sandor glanced over to Jon, he saw the same look in his grey eyes, though a bit lighter.

Sansa just nodded, but Sandor could see her pink lips flatten into a thin line, her chin tilt upwards- he’d seen that look more than enough times, always directed towards him.

It would be a long morning.

\------------------

“I can protect myself perfectly fine.” Sansa said, almost fuming as she leaned over the plant, a straw basket hanging from one shoulder. 

Sandor squinted away the sun, leaning against the picket fence. He decided not to comment on this one.

“I saved  _ your  _ life at the pharmacy. Surely I can manage on my own.” She seethed, yanking a weed roughly from the soil.

“Wasn’t the best shot.” Sandor grumbled, staring at the edge of the forest, past the huge pastures in front of them. 

“It was good enough!” She shot back, snapping up to her full height. She wasn’t short, either, rather tall for a woman.

“If you’re going to keep criticizing me for  _ saving your life _ ,” Sansa shot back, after a long pause of silence. “At least teach me how to get better.”

That caught Sandor off-guard completely. He hadn’t expected her to ask for his help, and with the way she delivered it, all sharp edges, he’d almost thought he’d misheard her.

“Can’t your brother do that?” Sandor scoffed. “Tell him he needs to pick better targets, though. No more little girls.”

It was a low blow, even for him, but Sansa just brushed it off with a huff.

“You’re a good shot. I’ve seen you hit those things.” She insisted, her hands coming to rest on the waist of her dirtied blue jeans. Sandor scrunched his nose- he thought he’d been alone, when he’d shot the few walkers he’d met on the perimeter.

She saw more than she let on, that was clear.

“Please, Sandor.” She insisted, taking another step towards him. He readjusted his eyes, deciding to focus again on the treeline in the distance. “I need to learn, and my father thinks I should just let others protect me, forever.”

She pouted this time, her brows low over her blue eyes. He didn’t remember looking away from the treeline and back to her, but he regretted it nonetheless.

“Fine,” He grunted, picking his weight off the picket fence and standing up straighter. He knew he was big, taller than any of the others. It helped that he was an ugly-looking fucker, too.

But she didn’t balk at his demeanor, only met his eyes, like she always did.

“I’ll make you more of those cookies, too.” Sansa said, a small grin on her face. “I saw you eat three at dinner last week.”

Sandor made a face, disliking the fact that she’d noticed, but they  _ were  _ damn good cookies, even for apocalypse cookies. Although he didn’t have much to compare them to.

“I said fine already, girl.” He grumbled, turning away from her victorious grin. 

\-----------------

She hadn’t rode a motorcycle before, that much was clear.

Sansa had her arms clenched around him so tight that he had a hard time breathing, her head shoved tight in between his shoulder blades. She had to be in her early twenties, clearly out of high-school, but she must’ve been real sheltered. He couldn’t imagine some punk bringing a motorcycle to the Stark farm and picking up their little princess.

He felt a little more like himself on the bike. It wasn’t his- he’d found it on the way to the school, after their place outside Atlanta was overrun. Riding it, with the wind whipping against his face, the trees a blur around him- he felt more at ease, more like himself. Maybe he was meant to be a wanderer, maybe that was the source of his unease.

“I thought I was going to fall off!” Sansa had chirped, irritation in her voice as she smoothed down her mane of red hair. He had been going a little fast, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.

“Your dad would have a stroke if he heard us shootin’ guns.” Sandor grumbled, taking the first few steps into the clearing they’d come upon. It was perfect, hopefully providing a blanket to conceal the noises.

If any walkers were nearby, and heard the noise, he and Sansa would be gone before they could get there. Fifteen minutes, tops, he told himself. 

He set up the crumpled beer can on a stump on one edge, then walked back to Sansa. She had her little pistol between her small hands, the one with the girly white trimming.

“Starting easy.” He said, eyeing the can.

She raised her gun to shoot, and he made a small noise of distaste.

“Put that leg back some. You’re gonna go flyin’ off if you shoot it that way.” He scoffed, pointing at her back leg. 

She listened, not giving any mouth back this time.

When she squeezed the trigger, they were both surprised to hear the  _ ting  _ of the metal can.

“I hit it!” Sansa said excitedly, her eyes huge. Sandor raised an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t that far away.” He told her, going to move it back even further.

But she tried it again- and hit the same metal  _ ting. _

__ This time, she scoffed at his response. “You just don’t want to admit I’m a good shot.”

He responded by moving the can back further.

This time, the  _ ting  _ was slightly different- she hit the rim of the can, rather than the dead-center, but the shot was still sound. She’d definitely hit it, from across the massive clearing.

“I thought you said you needed training, little bird.” The name came from his mouth before he could stop it, a product of her incessant, spirited chirps.

Sansa just laughed at that, the sound pure and clean. He’d never heard it before, and it sounded like something he shouldn’t be allowed to hear.

“I really just needed practice. I could feel myself getting rusty.” She said, eyeing a tall limb in the distance, hanging from a tree. A potential target.

As she aimed for it, there was a rustling from one edge of the clearing. 

A low groan followed, one Sandor had become accustomed to over the months- the hair on the back of his neck stood up, adrenaline suddenly in his veins.

“Want some real practice?” He grumbled, but Sansa was startled, a little bird ready to fly away. She kept her gun up, but took a shaky step back, just as he went forward to help.

Sansa collided with his chest, the top of her hair tickling the bottom of his chin. He could feel her shaking, could see the uneasiness in her outstretched arm.

“Sansa,” He said lowly, grumbling to her ear. It was the first time he’d said her name aloud. “Stay with me, alright?”

She nodded, a tiny movement, but her hand still shook. The walker was halfway across the clearing now, lumbering along, its decaying arms reaching out towards them.

Sandor reached to take the gun from her hands, but she made a noise, telling him to stop.

He felt her take a deep breath, steadying herself, and then she shot.

The bullet hit the walker’s shoulder, making him stumble, but still he continued. She cursed under her breath, and shot again.

The walker finally fell, a bullet shot clean through his head.

She was still shaking in between his arms, her breathing laboured.

“It’s harder shooting them.” Sandor said quietly to her. The first time he’d shot a walker, he’d been so hyped up on adrenaline that he didn’t even think about their faces until later- decaying faces, with garish, angry mouths, but still human faces nonetheless. 

Back at the pharmacy, she’d shot the one at the door so quickly that he didn’t even have time to see what color its shirt was. She shot, it went down, and they were back to the horses in minutes. Now, after watching the walker lumber towards them, growling and moaning, it seemed much more personal, even to him.

“I’d like to go home now.” She said quietly, turning her face slightly into his arm. For a moment, he thought to hug her, to make her feel some semblance of safety, but he stopped himself.

_ She needs to see the world out here. _

__

\--------------

When he pulled into the driveway of the farmhouse, stopping his motorcycle by the tents of his group, he felt something was  _ off. _

__ For a moment, he thought it was just the leftover feelings from the clearing, but then he heard a yell from the side of the house, and he broke into a run.

He heard the screen door slam as he rounded the front of the house, heard heavy footsteps as a few others emerged from the house, yelling their own questions. 

When he finally came around the back of the house, he saw two figures out by Sansa’s garden, barely visible through the haze of the afternoon sun and the sheer distance of the fields.

He ran closer, blinking past the beads of sweat that ran into his eyes. When he got close enough, Jon yelled.

“Stay where you are, Sandor.” Jon said, his hands held up by his head. He was slowly moving, circling with the woman in front of him.

She looked half-crazed, if Sandor were being honest- she had a head of long, tangled white hair, and her shirt was stained dark with blood, scrapes trailing up her arms. Her eyes were wide, like an animal caught in the headlights, finally trapped by a predator.

Most of all, she had a long, thin sword raised above her head, daring Jon to step closer to her.  _ A katana _ , Sandor realized.

“We’re just having a talk, here. Isn’t that right?” Jon told the woman, his voice clear and calm. 

“Stay the  _ fuck  _ away from me,” She screamed, her mouth a feral snarl.

“We don’t want to hurt you, ma’am.” Jon said, not unkindly. Sandor could see his curls sticking to his forehead, his face covered in heat from the summer Georgia sun. For a moment, his face twitched, and Sandor saw the tell- he was nervous. 

“I killed your friends back there,” The woman hissed, throwing her head back in the direction of the forest.

“I don’t have any friends out there,” Jon responded, his face empathetic. “If you could please put down the sword, we could talk this out-”

“I’ll kill every single one of you,” She spat back, with such venom in her voice that Sandor had made the decision right then and there.

He raised his crossbow from his side, staring down the scope at the woman. She was right in his line of sight, and he took a deep breath. With her state, it couldn’t be much different than taking down one of the dead.

“Sandor, put it down.” Jon said sternly, his voice angered, but Sandor ignored him.

“Your  _ governor,”  _ She snarled. ,”he gonna kill her, too? Or just me?”

“Ma’am, we have no idea what you are talking about.” Jon said, his voice almost exasperated. 

Sandor squeezed his finger on the trigger, but then he heard a noise beside him, a slight crackle of the wheat field underneath a foot. 

It was enough to throw him off his game, and the woman saw her chance. She rushed at him, and Sandor only had a chance to shoot one flimsy shot, narrowly missing her shoulder.

He dodged out of the way of her first swing, but just barely- it nicked his forearm, and there was blood suddenly running down his hand.

Sandor didn’t think. The swing was enough to knock her off-balance, and he slammed the butt of his crossbow directly into her head, the sound a loud  _ crack  _ over the white noise in his ears.

There was screaming around them, Jon saying something, Robb yelling for his father, and Sansa was saying  _ something  _ above it all, but he didn’t stop. He was only thinking about the tents on the other side of the house, the trailer parked out front, the little kids in the front yard, the girl who’d just shot her first walker face-to-face.

He raised his crossbow over the woman’s limp form, about to finish the problem altogether. 

He felt a hand on his arm, almost knocked out of the way by his swing- Sansa had her hands gripping his bicep, and he could only focus on the blood painting her porcelain hands, the white ringing in his ears becoming almost overwhelming.

“Sandor. We need her alive.” Jon said from beside him, taking his attention away from her. His face was drawn with worry, those familiar lines on his forehead. Sandor hadn’t seen them directed at him in a long time, and he hated it.

He let the crossbow drop onto the ground next to him, away from the woman’s unconscious form.

“We need to stitch this up.” Sansa said quietly, holding his arm, but he still felt far-off, far away from the rest of them. He would’ve killed the woman. Would’ve done it in a heartbeat.

He wasn’t sure what that said about him.

\----------------

Jon stood out in the field, out behind Sansa’s gardens. He squinted into the distance, trying to memorize the treeline beyond the furthest fields. Trying to make sure what happened today never happened again.

He knew everything had changed, but he was still trying to hold onto the hopes that it hadn’t.

“Do you have any clue what she was talking about?” Robb said from beside him, staring out onto the same fields, pulling his cowboy hat further down his forehead, trying to block out the glare of the setting sun.

Jon shook his head. “She really thought we were out to kill her.”

“She wasn’t all wrong. You saw Sandor.” Robb said, not daring to look at the man next to him.

“You don’t know what he’s been through.” Jon said quickly, his voice passionate. “He’d do anything to protect our people, and that includes you all now, too.”

They were quiet for a moment, the wind chimes on the porch and the leaves in the distance giving the only sound. It was serene, but unsettling with the day’s events.

“She was being hunted.” Jon said quietly, the words sinking low into his stomach, festering there.

“She couldn’t have come from far, either,” Robb said, his voice uneasy.

Jon closed his eyes for a moment, the words hitting him hard. It had been easy to lull himself into a false sense of security on the Stark farm, to believe they’d truly found a haven within the violent world. He’d gotten lax. Too lax.

They’d taken Sandor and the woman back into the house, to tend to both; but he’d made sure that the woman was left without any weapons, and had made it clear that two people would always be inside her room, starting with Tormund and Ygritte.

He reached for his gun, instinctively, just to feel that it was there; another false sense of protection. His hand instead hit the handle at his hip, the woman’s weapon that he’d strapped to his belt. 

When he’d first picked it up from the grass, he’d seen that it wasn’t a sword, but instead a katana; and under the sun, it’s ornamental handle glinted brightly. It had three dragons snaking up the length, all glimmering colors and sharp teeth. They looked angry, out for vengeance and blood.

“It means we’re not alone out here.” Jon said, his fingers skating over the jeweled dragons. 

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s a new update for you guys! 
> 
> If you guys want to get in the ~mood~ for this fic, I’ve been listening to TWD soundtrack and a lot of southern gothic music! For this chapter, it was mainly ‘Oats in the Water’ by Ben Howard. Highly suggest listening to that to get the angsty southern gothic feel.
> 
> I’ve also upped the rating on this fic, because we’re about to get dark. And because I’m planning a lot of future SanSan here :)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!! I love reading all of the comments that are left :)

Sansa was stitching up his arm, her careful fingers leaving goosebumps on his skin. She was so careful, so precise, that the pain was barely more than a collection of painful pinpricks. 

Sandor watched her as she worked- not her fingers, no, instead her furrowed brow, the small freckles peppered across her nose, the tiny bead of sweat at her temple. The line between her skin and her head of auburn hair, the little tiny hairs there, curled by the humidity outside.

It grounded him. 

His head was still spinning, still throbbing, and the stillness of her brought him comfort. It was a little pathetic, really, and he had no right to look at her the way that he was, but he did. Pretty little thing that shouldn’t have survived this far.

“It’s not as bad as it looked,” She whispered finally, and the sound only made him look at her lips, red and dry, but still inviting as hell.

_ Disgusting dog,  _ he told himself, meeting her eyes.

He expected her to be repulsed by him, scared of him after what he’d done right outside her perfect little garden. He’d almost stained that picket fence red with that woman’s blood, surely would’ve done it had Jon not stopped him. Had  _ Sansa  _ not stopped him, too, and that thought soured him even more.

But she just kept his gaze, unwavering. 

“I’m gonna go get you something to eat.” She said finally, breaking his eyes; her cheeks were reddened, competing with her hair. “You look like a ghost.”

He’d lost a good deal of blood, he knew that much. When he turned his head, it felt like he was moving through molasses, the room spinning wildly around him.

For a moment, he thought he saw a shadow in the corner of the room, a shadow larger than any man he’d ever met before. Except one, that was.

_ Think you’re better than me?  _ His brother scoffed, his voice thick with the same Southern accent. Last time Sandor had heard it, his brother had been spitting blood from his mouth, a crazed look on his face.

_ You ain’t  _ nothing

_ Think you’re free now, or somethin’?  _

_ You’re just that sheriff’s bitch now, killin’ for him. _

“Sandor,” A soft voice said, nothing like the low, rumbling drawl of his brother. He blinked, the room still moving around him, but the shadow was gone from the corner. Another figment of his fucked up mind.

There was a hand on his face, so gentle and calming that he felt tears pricking the back of his eyelids. He’d shut them tight, just to regain his own sense of control.

Gregor was dead. He had to remember that.

When he finally opened his eyes, Sansa was standing in front of him, that one little hand still cradling the side of his face.  _ The burnt side,  _ he realized, the thought making him want to be sick.

Even seated, he was still as tall as the tops of her shoulders, and her closeness made him feel even worse.

“You bring something?” He said after a moment, hoping she’d stop touching him, and keep doing it, forever, in the same moment.  _ Pretty little things didn’t last long, but they sure feel good while they do. _

_ That  _ thought sounded like his brother, and he had to force himself not to shatter the glass of orange juice that was pressed gently into his hand.

“Talisa is making dinner for everyone, and then Jon and father agreed we needed to all talk.” Sansa said finally, placing herself onto the little bed beside him, the mattress dipping slightly. 

The room was spinning a little less, his surroundings starting to feel a bit more familiar. He sighed finally, placing the empty glass to the side.

“Bout what we’re gonna do with her.” He said, a statement, not a question. 

“You did the right thing,” Sansa said, her voice now quiet, her words rushed. She was looking up at him with those blue eyes.

He didn’t say anything to that. What was there to say to that? 

“I’d do anything to protect my family.” She continued. “That’s what you were doing out there- protecting yours.”

_ I was protecting you, too,  _ but he didn’t say that. Wasn’t his place.

“You said I don’t understand the world out there.” Sansa’s words were a little louder now, more passionate, her brow furrowed again. “I used to go on supply runs with Arya. I was never as fast or as good as fighting the dead, but I helped. There was one day that we came into a house that we thought was empty.”

Her chest was heaving now, her breathing long and labored. Controlled.

He couldn’t look away from her, even as she stared him down. For once, he was the deer caught in the headlights.

“I went in first, while Arya was still checking the pantry next-door. There was a group of men in there. They….” Her voice trailed on, and she finally looked away, her jaw clenched as she gritted her teeth.

Before he could stop himself, reason some sense into his barely-there brain, he reached out and put his hand over hers as it rested on the bed. Her fingers curled around a few of his, squeezing so tight it was almost painful.

“You don’t have to go on,” He rasped, his chest on fire. He wanted to punch something, to rip it apart, to somehow find the bastards. The world goes to shit, and it brings out the animals in people. He knew that well enough in himself, but he’d kill himself before he ever hurt something like her.

“Arya found me, before it was too- before it happened.” Sansa said quickly, a small, humorless laugh coming from her chest. “Just barely.”

“So I get it,” Sansa said, looking back up at him from between her dark lashes. “The world isn’t safe anymore, and sometimes we have to make the hard decisions. If she hadn't been unconscious after you first hit her…”

Sansa trailed off, her face serious as she continued.

“I wouldn't have stopped you.”

\-------------

Dinner that night was much more somber than normal, the table rather hushed as they scarfed down what they could.

Tormund and Ygritte were still in the room with the woman, but Sandor had seen Talisa bring a few servings up to them. He watched her go up the stairs, mentally noting the direction she turned. Just in case.

Sansa had taken her seat by her father, where she always did, but Sandor noticed the way she pushed the food around her plate, only taking a few bites here and there. Jon and Ned talked across her, trying to avoid the main subject at hand by instead talking about the planned harvest for the fall, but she just looked on.

When dinner was finally over, Ned looked at the children at the table next to them.

“We need to have a meeting, just the adults.” He said sternly. Bran opened his mouth to say something, but Ned shot him a pointed, strict look, and the boy shut his mouth quickly.

The kids went into the den upstairs, and the rest of them relocated to the living room, bringing in the extra stools and chairs.

“We need to all talk about today,” Jon spoke up, looking at each and every face in the room. His eyes met Sandor’s and paused for a long second, and it was enough to almost make him feel guilty. 

“And we need to come to a decision.” Jon continued. “This’ll be a democracy, now, with all of us here. I don’t wanna be the one calling the shots for everyone, else we’re not getting anywhere.”

“I think we need to talk to her,” The younger Stark girl spoke up, on the edge of a tall stool, her brow furrowed. “She was talking about people nearby, and that could mean a lot of things.”

“Could mean we’re not safe no more.” Theon threw in, leaning back in his armchair, his lanky arms crossed over his chest.

“That’s another thing,” Jon said, this time standing as he addressed the room. He cleared his throat, an uncertain look taking over his face. “I think we need more things to protect ourselves, just in case something happens.”

Ned Stark’s face soured as he leaned forward to speak up. “With all respect, Jon, I don’t want my family’s farm turning into an armory. I won’t have any more bloodshed on my property.”

“Too late for that,” Yara said, her voice rough. “It’s on your doorstep already.”

“That’s enough.” Jon said sternly, carefully watching the look on the elder Stark’s face. 

“I think Jon’s right.” Robb said, pointedly ignoring the sharp turn of his father’s head as he met Jon’s gaze. “We need to protect this place. Talisa is due in the next month, and I don’t want to raise my child in a place that’s up for grabs.”

“I think it’s a hard choice to make,” A smaller voice spoke up. Gilly was sitting up straighter, clutching Sam’s arm to her side. “Once we choose to become those people, we can’t go back.”

“Hopefully we’ll never have to use those weapons.” Jon was quick to point out.

The room was quiet, uncertainty on most everyone’s face. Sandor sank back into his seat, grateful that he was still on the outskirts. 

He saw Sansa fidget in her seat next to her father, putting a small hand on his arm. Ned just stared into the fireplace across from them, his mind elsewhere.

“Let’s take a vote, then.” Jon said finally.

It was a landslide, of course, but Sandor could’ve told anyone as much. There were a few against the vote- Talisa, Gilly, Sam, and Ned- but the votes of the rest were more than enough to cover it.

“I can go and ask Tormund and Ygritte, but I know where they stand on the matter.” Jon said finally. He gave Ned a small nod of his head, his lips pressed into a thin line; the elder man at least returned it, even though it seemed forced and pained.

Sandor idly wondered if there would ever be the day where Ned Stark did what he promised he’d do- tell them to get off the Stark property- and if it did, he honestly wasn’t sure how Jon would take it. 

Jon Snow was a peacemaker through and through, but in the month they’d been at Stark farms, they’d laid their roots and let them grow deep. There was no going back from that, and there was definitely no going back on the road.

He just wasn’t sure if Ned Stark knew that yet.

“Now, we have to decide what to do with the woman.” Jon said.

“Like I said, we need whatever information she’s got.” Arya responded. 

“I think she needs to go,” Yara shot back, her teeth gritted. “She would’ve stuck that sword through all of us, if she had the chance.”

“She thought we were someone else.” Robb brought up. “It would do us a lot of good to know  _ who  _ that someone else is, especially if they’re nearby.”

“What then? We can’t just let her  _ join  _ us- she’ll kill us all in our sleep.” Theon said.

“She was being hunted.” Sandor finally spoke up, and it seemed that the room had forgotten about him, with the way they all looked towards him. It was silent for a good bit after that, so he folded his arms over his chest, leaning back into the shadows of the room. 

“That’s fucked.” Arya whispered, shaking her head. Sandor saw the quick look she shot towards her sister, both of them likely remembering the same memory. 

“If she was being hunted, then, and we’re keeping her-” Sam’s voice drew off. “Won’t that be reason to attack us?”

“We need to kill her.” Yara said firmly, her harsh words making the room launch into a fit.

“ _ Jesus Christ-”  _ Talisa whispered, as Arya said ,”We need to talk to her first-”

“It seems like the safest way.” Robb added in, his wife giving him a horrified glance.

“We’re not animals.” Sansa spoke up finally, an angered look on her face. “I agree that she cannot stay, but we should send her on her way, not  _ murder  _ her.”

“You don’t know how it works out there. We send her on her way, she’ll be back some day, with all her friends.” Yara shot back, her words sharp.

“We’re not playing God.” Ned Stark finally spoke up, his face turned away from the fire, finally back into the conversation; he looked infuriated, his face angry. “If you choose to murder this woman, you can do it  _ off  _ of my property, and you can stay off it, as well.”

The room was quiet after that threat, the people looking among one another. 

“We won’t kill her.” Jon said finally, making that promise to Ned. It seemed to calm the elder man some, but not by much. “The choice is whether to keep her here, for however long we deem proper, or to send her off when she wakes up.”

That vote was much, much closer.

The vote came down to Sandor, in the end. He was the last vote counted, the last of the tally, and he had chosen what he thought was best.

“That’s it, then. She’s staying.” Jon announced.

\-------------------

The rest of the meeting outlined a few new things, but nothing too radical, nothing like what they’d already decided on- with the possibility of other survivors coming on the farm, Ned had agreed to letting Jon’s group stay in the farmhouse. It would be a tight squeeze, even with the spacious farmhouse, but it would work.

Sandor didn’t love the idea. He liked it better, sleeping under the stars outside, being able to hear every little noise around him. But he’d also known that if he dared to sleep outside, Sansa would be the first to order him back inside, and she’d probably bug the hell out of him for it, too.

So it was then, with his bedroll near the big window in the living room, that he woke up to the sound of others yelling.

“Snow!” Tormund’s voice was loud and brash, filling the entire house. A few feet away from him, the Greyjoy boy stirred in his sleeping bag, and he heard footsteps in the upstairs floor above him.

Jon popped out of a side bedroom, tugging a shirt on as he ran up the stairs. Sandor stared at the ceiling above him, wondering if Jon would want him in there, next to the woman he’d almost killed.

But Jon yelled his name, urging him to follow, and he supposed his decision was made up.

Coming up the stairs, Sansa’s door flung open as he passed; she was clutching a robe around herself tightly, her hair a mess around her face as she met his eyes, her mouth opened slightly.

He looked away from that, something stirring in his chest.

In the room at the end of the hallway, there was a woman talking, her voice low and cautionary.

“Where am I?” The woman asked carefully as Jon entered. When she saw Sandor, her eyes narrowed, a hateful glare taking over her features.

“A farm.” Jon said, taking a seat at the foot of her bed, careful to school his features. Even after being woken up moments before, he was still cool and calm, ready to go.

He’d carefully left out the family name of the farm, which hadn’t gone past the woman.

“What’s the nearest town?” She asked carefully, watching his face.

“You’re gonna have to answer a lot more questions for us before I tell you that.” Jon replied back, staring her back down.

Sandor leaned against the doorframe. It would be a while. He nodded at Tormund, standing just a few steps outside the doorway. Ygritte was just behind him, listening carefully.

If the woman tried anything, she’d have hell to pay, and a whole house to get through before she tasted freedom.

“I was being chased down by a group of men.” She started, her voice careful. Her eyes were still squinted slightly, assessing Jon. “They were sent by a man, the leader of a town called Woodbury. Heard of it?”

“No, ma’am.” Jon answered, shaking his head. “We’ve stayed close to here.”

It wasn’t a lie- they’d stayed close for the past month. Before then, they’d been all over the damn state, chased by the living and the dead. Woodbury, though, had never come up. 

“If I had to guess, it’s probably twenty miles or so from here.” The woman said. “But I’d give you a much better estimate if I knew where the hell I was.”

“In time.” Jon said smoothly. “Tell me about Woodbury.”

“It’s a big community. They’ve taken over the main part of a town, turned it into a lot of houses. It’s fenced in real good, too.” She continued.

“Sounds pretty nice. Why didn’t you stay?” Jon countered.

“They were  _ hunting  _ me.” She spat. “Doesn’t really sound like the nicest place, now, does it?”

“That’s your story to tell, miss.” He responded. Sandor could tell his cool demeanor was grating at the woman.

“I came there with another woman. She wanted to stay, I didn’t. I made it clear what I thought about Woodbury’s leader, and some of the shady shit he was doing.” The woman said, and despite her bitter tone, Sandor could tell she was telling the truth. “They said I could leave anytime I wanted, so I did, and they tried to murder me.”

“What kind of things was the leader doing?” Jon said, narrowing his eyes at her words.

“He was collecting them.” She said, raising her chin, a glint in her eyes. She gestured to the outside, the world around them. “The dead, the walkers, whatever the fuck you want to call them.”

“Collecting for what?” Jon said, clearly taken aback. He cleared his throat, a nervous habit Sandor had picked up on.

“Whatever he wanted. Defense, revenge,  _ games-  _ anything.” The woman said, shaking her head. “He’s fucked, and I couldn’t convince my friend of that. He’s a charming man.”

“Do you know how many were hunting you?” Jon countered.

“Six.” She said firmly. “I killed three of them, but when I came on you, I thought you were the backup.” 

“No, ma’am. Like I’ve said- we don’t know these men, or Woodbury, at all.” Jon said, his face open, vulnerable as he talked to her. She seemed to ease a little bit at that, her tense shoulders drooping a little. The dark circles under her eyes suddenly seemed much more apparent, showing just how exhausted and weak she really was.

“They’ll be coming,” She whispered. “Woodbury’s leader- the governor- he doesn’t lose. He’d rather die than let someone else get away.”

“We’ll be setting up a stronger watch.” Jon said firmly, dipping his head as he made that promise to her. “We’ve got a lot of manpower here, and we plan to arm ourselves more. You’ll be safe here.”

After seeing the fear in the woman’s face, hand-in-hand with a furious rage, Sandor almost felt sorry for trying to kill her earlier. He wouldn’t have done anything different, no, but he truly realized the desperation of the situation after she’d talked. She was telling the truth.

“We’ll get you some food, and you can rest. We’ll talk more after that.” Jon said firmly as he left the room.

Sandor followed him as he walked by, a million things on his tongue, but Jon beat him to it.

“We’ll keep someone outside her door, just in case.” Jon whispered, just low enough that Sandor could pick up on it. He nodded, agreeing with the sentiment.

She was being truthful. But it didn’t mean she wasn’t any less of a threat.

\------------------

The next week was a sort of controlled frenzy.

There were people going in and out of the house at all times, pairs of the group going off on supply runs, some looking at new leads for more guns, some branching off to go on their part of the perimeter watch. Jon had made a lengthy schedule for every able-bodied adult in the house, so that there would always be someone watching the perimeter, going on supply or gun runs, tending to the crops and livestock, and keeping watch outside the woman’s door.

She’d finally hobbled around the house the other day, still weak and weary from being on the run for days; she’d finally given them a name, too.

“Daenerys,” She rasped through chapped lips. “Go by Dany.”

Dany spent most of her time sleeping; Sandor would know, because Jon had given him that watch, in the mid-afternoons.

He was supposed to be on perimeter watch. That would let him keep an eye out, while also keeping up his promise to the elder Stark. Sansa hadn’t yet convinced her father to let her go on supply runs, so she was left tending mostly to the garden and the horses.

“At least let me do some watches.” She’d stubbornly told Jon, sticking a finger on the schedule. Jon hadn’t yet been an object of her irritation yet, and had been taken aback, watching the pretty, mild-mannered woman turn into something more akin to her younger sister.

It had made Sandor almost crack a smile. He was very, very used to being the object of that. 

He’d started helping out with her gardening, finally, after feeling useless for so long. He itched to constantly do the perimeter watch, but Jon had been sure to pass that job around his group, not just to Sandor.

So he’d found himself hands and knees in the dirt, tugging at weeds.

“These tomatoes will be ripe soon,” Sansa commented, squinting the sun out of her eyes as she looked at him. She was covered in dirt, a sheen of sweat holding her hair down to the sides of her face.

She was fucking beautiful, and it made him feel even more out of place, in her garden and in her home, so he just grunted.

He’d had a dream that first night, too, when he was helping her in the garden for the first time. She’d been on her hands and knees in that dirt again, but this time she was crying out little mewls of pleasure as he pressed into her again and again, her red braid wrapped tightly around his fist.

Sandor had taken himself into hand at that, right on the Stark’s front porch in the middle of the fucking night, so he didn’t wake up the Greyjoy boy in the living room. He’d been disgusted with himself after he finished, for so many reasons he couldn’t even keep track.

He busied himself on the far side of the garden after that.

Day after day, there was still no word on the group that had been hunting Dany. It had set Sandor on edge, had him twitching his fingers towards his crossbow every time he heard a sound.

It was only a matter of time. Even after a week, he was convinced it would be any day. 

And finally, it came.

\-------------

“Hey!” Theon yelled, pushing open the screen door so hard that it hit the wall, sending all the family pictures rattling. Sandor was already halfway down the stairs, ignoring the fact that he’d left Dany alone without a guard.

The Greyjoy boy’s shirt was covered in sweat, his messy curls sticking to his face as he panted. 

“I can’t find Sansa,” He said, his chest still heaving. “I was gonna take over on perimeter watch and-”

Sandor was already out the door before he could finish, before Jon could even step in and ask more questions.

His heart was beating fast, faster than it should’ve been. His feet were already taking him towards the gardens- her perimeter watch started right after they finished gardening each day, so it would be a place to start. 

Sandor Clegane was a damn good tracker. If he was shit at everything else, he could at least track and hunt, had been doing it his whole life. His old man didn’t teach him much, but he taught him that, and Sandor wouldn’t have been alive this long had it not been for that.

The garden gate was swinging open, and that sent his heart dropping down, down to his feet. 

Sansa wouldn’t leave it open.

He ran inside, looking around desperately- and he finally saw it. The little wicker basket, the one she stuffed all her daily harvest in, the one she kept her little handkerchief in, in case she had to dab at the sweat on her porcelain forehead.

It was laying askew on the ground, the contents strewn about, as if it had hastily been cast aside.

There were footsteps, big footsteps that couldn’t have belonged to Sansa; they were leading out of the garden, back towards the wild fields that the horses grazed in. If Sandor had to guess, towards the thick woods behind it, too.

Jon and Robb were yelling behind him, the house beginning to stir as the others caught on, but Sandor was already gone, running towards the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... any guesses on who the governor is??


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, it’s been a while since I updated this one! I promise I haven’t forgotten it, I’ve just been crazy busy with grad school applications! I have a looooot of plans for this one.
> 
> Just a heads up on where I’m going with this one: I think it’ll be about 10 chapters total, 30-40k words, and I’m already planning on a sequel. Like I said, I have a lot of plans and ideas that I’m excited to continue. I will say this though: this is a SanSan centered fic, and my two POV characters are Sandor and Sansa, with other characters being supplemental POVs. However, this is a very slow burn fic, and I’m really exploring an ensemble cast fic here. Just FYI, in case anyone wanted me focusing solely on those two and writing a quick, non-angsty fic. You’re in the wrong place then! :)
> 
> As always, thank you all for reading!!

Sansa woke up in a hospital bed, of all places.

She blinked away the sunlight streaming in through the open window, the light, Georgian half-fall half-summer breeze drifting through. There were birds chirping somewhere, too, a peaceful sound. She ran her fingers over clean cotton sheets.

“Ah, you’re awake.” A voice said behind her. She whipped around fast, the dreamlike state being shattered like glass; the room was still there, inviting and calm, but she remembered the pain of something hitting her head  _ hard _ while she was plucking weeds from the garden, shoving another ripe squash into her basket.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” The man said softly, a kind smile curving the edge of his lips. He was a tall, thin man, with a neatly-trimmed grey moustache and a twinkle in his eyes. He looked genuinely nice, and that only served to put Sansa more on edge.

“Where am I?” She pressed, her hand shooting up to cradle her dry, cracked throat. The man raised his eyebrows, rushing around to find her a glass of water.

He turned his back, filling something up at the small sink- she took a moment to take it all in. To breath, to calm herself, to remember to pay attention.

There was a warm light above her, hardly needed with the evening sun outside.  _ They have electricity. _

__ The man wore a perfectly pressed button-down, and even from the back, she could see that it had no creases- it was immaculate. Just like the tiny hospital room.

She glanced outside, squinting against the sunlight to see  _ something,  _ but the man had turned back around, offering her a glass of water.

“Don’t worry, I’ll show you around once you’re ready.” He assured her, offering her that same warm smile.

She took the water so she didn’t have to respond to him.

As she gulped down the chilled liquid, he sat himself in the chair next to her bed, crossing one leg over the other carefully. He tilted his head, appraising her, and Sansa tried not to wither under his watchful gaze.

“Well, Sansa, I do believe we have some things to talk about.” The man said, a light chuckle at the end of his sentiment. Sansa tensed at that.

“How do you know my name?” She shot back, gripping the glass cup hard in her hand. Despite what others may think, she wasn’t a fool- this must have been the same group that had  _ hunted  _ Dany, chasing her as if the killing were a sport. 

“I knew your mother, of course.” The man said simply, as if it were something she should have already known. He read her face, and suddenly his expression was a bit more hardened, suddenly not as cheery and kind. 

“I take it my name never came up, then.” He said. “We worked together, for a brief bit of time. Catelyn was a wonderful woman.”

_ If she were still alive, she’d hate you,  _ Sansa wanted to say, the bitterness on her tongue. 

“She’s dead.” Sansa said, the biggest bit of bravado she could muster- but she was sorely disappointed when the man just sighed, a small frown on his face.

“I’d guessed as much. She never would have let such a dangerous criminal in among her family.” The man responded, his fingertips tapping silently on the arm of his chair.

“Are you the governor?” Sansa pressed, the words falling quickly from her mouth. She hastily added, “Of this place?”

The man laughed, shaking his head as if it were a silly joke. There were lines around his eyes, little marks from smiling. 

“Oh, gods. I see my reputation has preceded me.” He chuckled. “I suppose the answer is yes- they  _ do  _ call me the governor, but that was my title in a past life. I’ve just been pushed to continue that same career here in this new world, and people do love some semblance of normalcy. You, Sansa, can call my Petyr.”

It struck her then why she was so on-edge, why the hairs at the back of her neck were prickling. 

Despite the sincerity of it, despite the kind smiles and warm sentiments, she  _ knew.  _

He was faking it. Every single bit of it, a lie along with a mannerism he’d perfected to look just like the real thing.

Sansa wanted to throw her glass, to slam it down and break it into shards of glass and try  _ something  _ to hurt him, to get out of there as fast as possible and run back to her family, back to the farm.

But that wasn’t her. That was Sandor, or Arya, but never her.

And so she did the next best thing, in the face of a liar.

She smiled softly, trying to make herself look unsure and gentle, all the things she was before.

Petyr visibly relaxed at that.

“I need you to know, Sansa, that I will not let any harm come to you here at Woodbury. I really hated being so barbaric, taking you from the farm like we are some  _ animals.”  _ Petyr shook his head at that, scoffing. “You can leave this room as soon as you’d like and walk around my town. These are good people here.”

“But,” He continued, a troubled look painted across his face. “You took someone in that had harmed me and my town- my  _ family _ , really, at this point. We knew she was crazed and dangerous, and she would lie right to anyone’s face. With her out there….”

Petyr closed his eyes, exhaling a deep breath.

“We need justice in this world, or else she will go on from one family to the next, killing and hurting those around her. When I’d heard she’d settled in at Catelyn’s family farm, I knew we had to act quick.”

“You’re trading me for her?” Sansa said, trying to keep her voice meek.

Petyr groaned aloud. “Yes, yes- I know it sounds very medieval, but I really had no other way. I could come to your family and she would lie to your faces, turn you all against me. She’s done it before, Sansa.”

The woman who’d stepped onto their farm hadn’t been a cunning, smart liar- she’d been half crazed and dangerous, yes, but she’d been truly terrified. Sansa had to force herself to keep her eyes wide, trying to act scared.

“I had no idea.” Sansa said simply.

“You couldn’t have had any clue.” He offered. It was silent for a moment, but then Sansa found her willpower overcome by a question, pressing at the back of her mind. She had to ask it.

“What did she do?” She whispered, and it seemed to catch him off guard, his mouth twitching slightly.

She cursed herself silently, knowing it was not what he’d expected from a quiet, meek girl.

“She murdered my daughter.” Peytr said, his voice low. Sansa couldn’t look away from his eyes, though his response shook her.

_ It’s all lies,  _ she reminded herself firmly, trying to stop herself from falling into his traps.

“Daenerys and her friend showed up at Woodbury a few months ago, driven to our doorstep out of necessity. Her friend was sick with a nasty cold, and we offered them both a place to stay, food, and medicine. Daenerys was bitter when her friend wanted to stay here with us- she was always looking for some ulterior motive, some conspiracy behind our actions. She was driven mad by it, and it caused her to lash out. Once she realized what she’d done, she ran.”

Sansa couldn’t see Dany with a friend, couldn’t see the lone woman with any sort of companion by her side. She wondered how much of his words were true. Though she’d slowly began to trust the woman over the past week, mainly through her own empathy, she  _ knew  _ she didn’t actually know her.

It made her nauseous.

“Sansa,” Peytr said gently, his voice serious. “She- Daenerys-”

His voice broke there, almost pitifully, and he looked away. Sansa’s breath was caught in her lungs, her body frozen to the spot.

He wasn’t lying this time.

“She decapitated my daughter.” He said, fresh tears in his eyes. “A defenseless, seven-year-old girl.” 

__ Sansa wanted to believe there was a reason, an explanation, something that made sense. But she felt herself grasping at a conclusion that didn’t exist. Petyr shook his head, gritting his teeth hard.

_ “That’s  _ who your family is dealing with right now.” 

\--------------------

Sandor was running, as hard and as far as his legs would take him. He’d stopped feeling the ache a while ago, still running off of the adrenaline from before. From finding her basket, thrown to the side, freshly-picked vegetables strewn into the dirt.

He didn’t have a plan. He knew it was foolish and stupid, the longer he ran and the clearer his head became, but he didn’t see himself as having any other choice. He’d told Ned Stark, looked him right in his fucking eyes, and said that he’d protect Sansa. He’d said it to himself a million goddamn times, unconsciously and consciously, because he was a weak man and she was something pure and whole.

So he didn’t have a plan. He had a crossbow, a pistol on his belt. They probably had multiple guns a piece. Probably some other shit, too. It didn’t matter, because he had no other choice.

There were hooves coming up from behind him, hitting the leaves and stirring up a ruckus in the forest. And then there was a tawny horse in front of him, angled sideways to stop his path.

Sandor didn’t say a word. He just looked up into the troubled eyes of Jon Snow, his chest heaving, and let him explain himself.

“You can’t do this alone.” Snow said simply, the sheriff’s hat on his brow almost a mockery of the situation.  _ You’re the fucking police, go get her. _

__ “I promised I’d keep her safe.” Sandor responded after a long pause.

“If you were out there, they just would’ve taken you too. Or hell, maybe they just would’ve waited for another time she was alone. You can’t blame yourself for this.” Snow argued.

“Fuck that. I would’ve killed them.” He shot back. He moved to go around the horse, but Snow just moved it forward, blocking his path again.

“Snow-” Sandor started, his voice a warning, but the sheriff interrupted.

“Dany says they’ve got a whole town out there. You can’t take on that many people, and if you get yourself killed being an idiot, you know damn well you can’t help her in hell.” 

Sandor stared him down, his teeth gritted, and he saw the same look in Snow’s eyes- determination and fury. He was just as pissed as he was. Somewhere along the line the Starks had become part of their family, or maybe they had become part of the Starks- the lines blurred regardless, until it had all of them seeing red when one of them was threatened.

“They won’t kill her. They do that and they know we’ll go there ourselves and set that town on fire.” Snow said, a glint in his eyes that Sandor had only seen a few times before. Something darker, something slightly unhinged.  _ Good.  _

Snow had made a promise, too.

“I think they-”

Before he could finish his thought, there was a noise in the distance- a loud, blaring siren.

“Get on,” He changed his sentence, the worry written clear across his face. Sandor eyed the muscled steed for a minute, praying to all gods he could take the weight of both of them.

The horse grunted, clearly unhappy, but trotted nonetheless.

“It’s coming from the main road.” Sandor commented, his gut twisting as he put it all together. The main road was on the other side of the farm’s land, directly opposite of the garden and the rolling fields that led to the thick forest he’d been running through. The complete opposite direction of where the governor’s people must have gone.

Sandor cursed at the same moment Jon came to the same conclusion.

“They’re playing with us.” He spat. 

They rounded the house, the siren just getting louder and louder the closer they got. It was deafening, an ear-piercing sound. One the Stark farm couldn’t afford right now. They had to turn it off, and fast, or else the place would be calling walkers in from miles and miles.

A game, alright- they must’ve known it was the only way to draw them off their trail. 

It also meant that the governor had numbers, and that sickened Sandor’s stomach more than anything.

The siren and speakers were placed near the main road, in a tiny patch of free space- Sandor could just barely see it through the walkers milling about.

“Whoa, whoa-” Snow assured his horse, trying to calm it with one hand while it balked at the dead in front of them. The noise was deafening up this close, irritating the horse even more.

One close to them reared its ugly head, intrigued by the horse’s whine and the two men on top- Sandor planted an arrow right between its eyes.

By the time he’d felled two of them, Theon and Robb had appeared, Arya and Yara quick on their heels- it was easy to pick them off one-by-one, but when Sandor squinted into the distance, he could see more forms on the horizon.

When the last walker was down, one of Theon’s hatchets buried deep into its skull, Sandor moved to finally silence the siren once and for all.

Arya was quicker. She slammed the butt of her rifle down on it hard, one, two, three times, until the machine cracked and splintered. Finally it stopped the noise, leaving a ringing behind in Sandor’s ears. 

There was a note between her fingers, some scrap of paper she’d pulled from the wreckage of the siren. The others were beginning to pick off the walkers that had gotten closer, trying to keep them from going back to the farm, but Sandor’s eyes were glued on the blank expression on the girl’s face.

For once in however long Sandor had known her, she looked almost scared. Her eyes were big, the dirt and blood smeared across her forehead making her look even younger.

He snatched it from her hands before she could stop him, but to his surprise, she didn’t argue.

It was perfect writing, all prim and proper and fucking disgusting.

_ Bring me the woman, or I’ll kill the Stark. _


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, long chapter here after a longer wait than I had hoped for. 
> 
> I also noticed that I had a Jon Snow/Sam Tarley tag on this fic for some reason. If you’re here for that relationship alone, I’m really sorry but it will not be happening! That one’s really weird in my opinion, lol. They’re too good of friends. That was just a mess up on my part!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and I hope you’ll leave a comment! I’m trying to get better about replying to them, but just know I read every single one of them and they always make my day :)

They had flowers. Rows and rows of flowers, planted carefully, beautifully in rows alongside the street. 

Somehow, out of everything she’d seen of Woodbury, that disturbed her more than anything.

Sansa had quickly decided that waiting in a hospital bed would do her no good. She’d taken Petyr up on his offer to walk outside, forcing out sugary-sweet  _ thank yous  _ in response, pretending that she was grateful to the man who’d had her kidnapped.

Her clothes had been a mess, all dirtied and ragged. He’d procured a pair of jeans for her and a crisp blue button-down. When she’d taken it from him, their fingertips grazing for a brief moment, he gave a wistful, sad smile.

“They used to belong to my wife.” He said softly.

Sansa felt something sharp in her gut, a nasty idea planted there. Part of her felt empathetic for the man, thinking of her own mother’s demise.

But another part screamed at her that something was desperately wrong here, past just the fact that she’d been taken as a trading piece. 

The clothes fit perfectly. It was a little detail, really, one that she tried to assure herself was just bred of paranoia. But that feeling of wrongness still bloomed inside her, gripping at her heart.

She needed her family here, as soon as possible. Needed Robb, needed Jon, needed even Arya and Theon. 

She needed Sandor. 

That thought made her take in a deep breath, steeling herself.  _ I’m not a little bird,  _ she told herself.

Sandor wouldn’t wait. Sandor wouldn’t sit in a hospital bed and dream of being rescued. 

And that was what propelled her into the streets of Woodbury.

The main street of the town was flanked on either side by dozens of storefronts, with little apartments above the shops. They were clean, as meticulously neat as Petyr’s own attire. It was the first time Sansa had seen something that resembled civilization, the first time in many, many years.

_ They hunted Dany,  _ she reminded herself, sneaking a glance up at Petyr’s face, a small, open smile resting on his lips. He greeted a man as he walked by, a stack of books in his arms.

Books. They had books. They had time to  _ read  _ books, time to not worry about simply surviving.

“The walls are impenetrable.” Peytr broke her musing, making her snap her eyes away from the tempting stack of novels. He lifted a graceful hand out to the tall, metal wall that they’d been approaching. It was a mismatch of all different kinds of metal, a wide variety of shades ranging from sparkling to rusting. It must have taken months, with the sheer size of it.

She stared it down, trying not to be scared of the fortress between herself and freedom.

There was a reason he was showing it to her, and she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of her fear.

“It must have taken quite a while.” Sansa offered, hoping to feed into the man’s ego.

“It was much faster than you’d think. We had many hands working on it, after all.” He said, grinning slightly.

Her eyes darted up to the top of the wall, watching the platforms that rested on the edge. They were accessible by a few staircases, but seemed sturdy enough- there had to be at least a dozen men on the portion of the wall that she could see, all surveying the land beyond.

Waiting to shoot down her family.

“Gendry!” Petyr said, gesturing to a man on the wall. Sansa squinted against the haze of the setting sun, watching the tall, limber form of a man appear.

He made his way down the stairs, the bouncing shotgun on his back catching Sansa’s attention.

When he got closer, she noticed he was young, not much older than her. He had a somber-looking face, albeit somewhat handsome, with a buzzed head of dark hair. He wasn’t quite as scrawny as she’d thought- when he crossed his arms over his chest, answering Petyr’s call, she noticed the ripple of muscles on his bare arms.

“Sansa, meet Gendry. Gendry, Sansa.” Petyr said. Gendry’s hand came between them, offering her a shake.

For a second, Sansa almost laughed. The manners, the polite introductions, all of it seemed ridiculous in light of the reason she was  _ visiting  _ Woodbury.

She took his hand anyways, after a long pause.

“Sansa will be here with us for a few days, until she’s ready to get back on the road.” Petyr explained, still giving that signature politician smile. Sansa tried not to grit her teeth.  _ Liar. _

Sansa watched Gendry’s expression, hoping to find some crack in it that she couldn’t seem to find in Petyr- but Gendry just simply nodded. Either he believed the lie Petyr told, or he was in on it.

She wasn’t sure which was worse. Gendry would not be her way out of Woodbury- either he wouldn’t believe her when she explained the kidnapping, or he already knew of it, and would run back to Petyr to tattle on her for trying to rope him into her escape.

Petyr Baelish was a smart man.

“I was hoping you’d be willing to show her around for the next few days. Make sure she is comfortable and all.” 

“Yeah, sure.” Gendry said, nodding his head. He looked Sansa over for the first time, but his face still remained oddly blank and far away.

“Well then.” Petyr rubbed his hands together, giving them both a charming grin. “I will see you both at the festivities tonight, I suppose.”

With that he was gone, back up the path to the main street. A few townspeople surrounded him, engaging him in conversation. Sansa watched until he took a turn out of sight.

“I was about to go get dinner.” Gendry said abruptly, an almost sheepish look on his face when she whipped back around to him.

“Dinner sounds good.” Sansa said, feeling the sharp pain in her stomach now that Petyr was out of sight. She’d felt like she was in a constant battle between fight or flight around the man, and while she knew Gendry was part of his town, she didn’t feel the same alarm around him. 

She wouldn’t be letting her guard down, of course.

He was quiet on the long walk to the other side of the town, leaving her to try and map out more of its streets in her head. They’d cleared out a good chunk of the town, letting the wall cover the spots in between the tall buildings. She saw what she thought was an infirmary near the main strip, followed by a few large storage buildings.

Guns, ammunition, if she had to guess. Right in the center of town, as far away from the walls as it could be. She filed that away for later.

Gendry shifted the strap of his gun around on his chest, clearing his throat.

“You been out there long?” He asked, glancing down at her.

“A few months.” She lied, staring down the road. 

“Feels like a century these days.” He responded, his brow furrowed. He was thinking of something else, his mind far away.

“Were you out there long? Before all of this?” Sansa asked, feigning innocent curiosity.

“Yeah. Been alone for almost all of it, before Petyr took me in.” Gendry said.

“Does he take people in a lot?” She asked, looking up at him from under her lashes, trying to gauge his response to her question. He opened his mouth to answer, his face suddenly pained, but he was cut off.

“Gendry,” A clear voice said in front of them.

There was a man in front of them, so sudden that Sansa was amazed she hadn’t heard him approach. He was pale, eerily so, with a head full of dark curls. His eyes were a shocking shade of blue, and his smile was sickly sweet. He was looking at Sansa.

“Make sure to log that back in the armory.” The man said, shifting his attention back to her guard- he pointed at the shotgun strapped to the man’s back.

Gendry nodded, but Sansa didn’t miss the stiffness that had overtaken him.

“It’s wonderful to see you up and about, Sansa.” The man said, a grin on his features. His face was so sharp that it seemed unnatural.

“I don’t think we’ve met.” She said.

“Oh, of course you don’t remember me.” He said quickly, laughing to Gendry as if it were a joke they were all in on. “I was the one who saved you out there, brought you back to Woodbury.”

Sansa’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, her body fighting the urge to lash out.

“I know, I know. It gets so scary out there, it’s hard to remember every face you meet when you’re about to be eaten!” The man laughed again, though Gendry was clearly just as on-edge as she was.

He quieted after a moment, a calm look overtaking his face.

“Don’t I at least deserve a thank you?” He asked.

Bile rose in Sansa’s throat, thinking of the fresh set of bruises up her arms, covered by the button-down Petyr had given her. The knot on her skull, from where he’d knocked her out in the garden. She didn’t want to know what else of her was touched by him.

A thought came to her mind suddenly, an intrusive one, but one she clung to desperately nonetheless- Sandor finding the man in front of her. Finding Petyr. Finding Gendry, for all she cared. She remembered the crazed, hellbent Sandor in the fields out by the garden, attacking Dany to protect his people.

That made her smile.

“Thank you,” She said, her genuine remark taking the man in front of her off-guard. She pictured blood running down his face, his teeth knocked from his mouth.

“I’ll check the gun back in later.” Gendry told the man, nodding to him as he pressed himself and Sansa forward.

She glanced up at him, noticing the sweat beading at his brow, despite the sun having just dropped past the horizon.

“That was Ramsay. You should stay away from him.” Gendry said, his face still stony and impassive.

Ramsay. She had a name for the list, the list she’d be giving to Sandor.

\-----------------

Dinner was an odd affair, one that had made her even more uneasy. 

The dining hall was packed with townspeople from a wide variety of ages, from toddlers to senior citizens. It made that same feeling bubble up in Sansa’s chest, thinking about what would happen when her family came to save her.

Because they  _ would  _ come to save her, she was sure of it. She wouldn’t let herself think otherwise.

They weren’t depraved enough to give Dany back to those that had wanted to torture her. They weren’t those kinds of people, would never be those kinds of people.

But she also didn’t want them to be the kind of people that murdered innocents, no matter if they were under the rule of a lying, monstrous man. They shouldn’t be murdered for the things they didn’t know.

Well, what  _ most  _ of them didn’t know.

Ramsay sat across the room at a table full of men, his eyes rarely leaving her and Gendry’s small corner of the room. She always felt his icy gaze on her, watching her every move.

Gendry noticed, too, but he didn’t say anything. He was rather quiet, and didn’t seem to have many friends here, it seemed. Few people stopped to chat with him, mainly wanting to introduce themselves to her. They were genuinely kind, which only served to churn the guilt in her stomach.

“What are the festivities tonight?” Sansa asked suddenly, mid-bite in a generous helping of powdered mashed potatoes. She’d remembered Petyr’s quick statement, and had reminded herself to bring it up with Gendry later, in private, hoping she’d get a genuine answer.

He met her eyes, his own dark blue ones slightly troubled.

“It’s a little tradition. Every Friday night here.” He said quickly, his eyes darting around the room.

“That doesn’t clear things up.” She shot back.

“I don’t know how to explain it.” Gendry said. “It’s- it’s not what you’d expect. But it has a purpose.”

\------------------------

Sansa found herself back in Petyr’s grasp during the festivities.

She found out why, exactly, she was back with him and not with Gendry, soon after that.

There was a makeshift arena on the other side of the city center turned cafeteria, shrouded by a thick covering of trees. It served to keep in the noise from the area, despite being inside the massive walls of Woodbury, and that should have been Sansa’s first idea that something was very much wrong.

One of the men she saw earlier, sitting by Ramsay’s side, came around the corner, a chain dangling from his hands.

Sansa leaned forward, looking around Petyr, her curiosity getting the best of her.

The walker lunged into view behind the man, the chain around his neck loosening as his fingertips grazed the man.

Sansa gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. She remembered the shooting lessons with Sandor, what felt like a lifetime ago, getting so close to those monsters and-

“It’s alright. He’s got it in control.” Petyr said softly. “See?”

The man looped the chain around a large post in the middle of the arena, narrowly side-stepping the bite of the walker. He yelled and hollered, and to Sansa’s disgust, the crown around her cheered.

“That’s a  _ walker _ .” Sansa hissed. “This is dangerous- what if it got loose?”

Petyr motioned to the outskirts of the arena, where she could just faintly see the outlines of other people.

“They’ll take care of it quickly.” Petyr said simply. Sansa wondered if Gendry was down there, if he was somehow okay with this. She felt almost betrayed, in a bizarre sort of way.

“Why would you ever do this? Take this sort of chance?” She whispered. The crowd around them was buzzing, excited shouts and murmurs as a familiar face darted into the ring.

Ramsay grinned up at the crowd, raising his arms to get them to cheer him along. He was dressed down, no longer armed to the teeth, and he looked oddly bare in the arena. Sansa wondered if she was about to see him get ripped apart, before Sandor could ever lay a hand on him.

“It keeps my people happy.” Petyr said, his grey eyes catching hers. For a moment, he no longer seemed the manipulative politician, but instead eerily genuine. “All of my people have been hurt by those things, have seen others killed mercilessly by them. This, however odd it may seem to an outsider, is how they slowly begin feeling safe, feeling in control.”

“It’s a false sense of safety.” Sansa spat back, knowing full and well she had dropped the innocent, weak act she had been desperate on playing. “You’re teaching them that they’re just playthings. They’ll die out there, past these walls.”

“It doesn’t matter. I will protect them.” He said, clapping as Ramsay punched the chained walker across the face, the decaying jaw detaching from the body. The crowd roared around her.

Ramsey kicked the head of the walker, leaving a lump in the weak flesh there; it lunged to the side, its movements uncoordinated and messy. Ramsay shouted things, goading the walker in front of him and gaining the laughter of the audience.

He was grinning, his hair plastered to his face with sweat. 

_ He was made for this world,  _ Sansa thought idly, the idea sending a shiver down her spine.

“They won’t be past these walls again.” Petyr said finally, as the walker stopped moving for good.

\--------------------------

Sansa was quiet when Gendry found her later.

He had been somewhere in the line of guards around the arena, making sure the walker didn’t get far if it got loose. They’d ushered in a dozen more walkers after Ramsay, letting ones like him put on more and more shows for the eager audience. It had ended with Ramsay taking on three walkers at once, much to the glee of those around her.

It had made her want to vomit.

“Were you on walker control?” Sansa spat after a few minutes of quiet silence, walking back up the empty main street. Petyr had gone the opposite way, going to converse with Ramsay after the fight, and the rest of the townspeople had dispersed while she waited for Gendry to come collect her.

It was quiet. She could run, but she knew Gendry would be faster.

“Yeah.” Gendry said, with so much guilt in his voice that Sansa shot a quick look up at him. 

His face was lax, his eyes even sadder than what she’d seen earlier. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was-

“Itspartofthejob-”

“Are you drunk?” Sansa hissed incredulously, her mind running miles ahead of her. Maybe she  _ could  _ run.

“No.” He said sternly, but as he tried to stop, his feet faltered, making him stumble slightly.

Sansa instinctively moved to steady him, her hand brushing past his breast pocket.

It was hard, harder than just a chest.

“Is that a flask?” She asked.

“Please don’t tell.” Gendry said suddenly, his eyes fearful. “I just fucking hate these nights, goddamn it- fuck. Gods. Please just-”

She held a hand up to make him stop his ramblings.

“I won’t say anything.” Sansa said, her words completely truthful. She really, really doubted Gendry knew about the real reason she was at Woodbury, especially if he still drank while having to guard her. He didn’t realize how close she was to running away.

She thought about it, really thought about it, but decided not to. At best, she’d make it to the wall, but she didn’t know any way over or around it. Worse than that, there were people patrolling the wall at all hours, and they wouldn’t let her get far even if she did somehow cross it.

No, she was stuck here for a bit longer.

“Thank you.” Gendry muttered, his cheeks reddened.

“But you have to answer me something, first.” Sansa pressed. “If you hate their games so much, why do you stay?”

Gendry looked away from her, surveying the streets around them. His brow was furrowed, an uneasy look on his face.

“I would’ve died without Petyr’s help.” He settled on, once he was sure they were alone. “I owe everything to him.”

Sansa wanted to argue, wanted to press into  _ why,  _ but she reminded herself that anything she said would likely get back to Petyr’s ears, drunk or sober.

She let go of him at that, letting him continue to lead the quiet way back to the storefronts, back to the little hospital apartment she’d awoken in that morning. But as they got closer, he kept walking, confusing her even further.

“My room is back here.” Sansa pointed out, blaming it on his tipsy mind.

“Petyr said you were staying in his spare room.” Gendry asked.

Sansa gritted her teeth, grinding out a tense  _ okay  _ in response.

If he noticed her response, he didn’t say anything, continuing on their path to a destination she hadn’t visited yet. It left her feeling even more out of control, even more unsure of the future.

_ Just like he’d wanted. _

__ They finally stopped in front of a modest storefront, Gendry eyeing her quietly.

“What?” She snapped, her frustration coming through.

“Can I tell you something?” He asked suddenly, his face serious despite his state; Sansa eyed him carefully, wondering if this was something he’d regret telling in the morning.

She nodded.

“You need to be careful.” Gendry’s words were quick and hushed, his voice almost frantic. “I- fuck, I saw something the other night. Don’t think I was supposed to. I should’ve fucking said something but I was scared and I didn’t know and  _ gods-” _

__ _ “ _ What did you see?” Sansa pressed, hoping to push through his frantic, drunken ramblings, her own heart beating fast under her skin.

“I should’ve done something.” He said, his voice almost a choked sob. “I  _ knew  _ Ramsay wasn’t good and I still let her take that shift on the wall and fuck, it’s all my fault. Gods.”

“Gendry.” Sansa pressed, grabbing onto his elbow. He closed his eyes, his mouth trembling.

He opened them suddenly, gripped by a pained expression.

“Ramsay pushed her off the wall.” Gendry said. “There were walkers at the bottom, and we were gonna be quiet and let them pass by, but he pushed her off the wall. I was coming to relieve her and he didn’t know I was there and he told me she tripped but I  _ knew  _ and I didn’t say anything-”

Sansa’s mind was racing, her thoughts trying to put it all together. She was doing the math, trying to figure out if the days lined up from when Dany came to their farm. It was a thread, a small one that she was pulling on, a longshot by all means. But she had to pull it nonetheless.

“The woman.” Sansa said quietly, gripping both his arms now. “Was she alone?”

Gendry nodded, tears still in his eyes, a drunken sorrow on his face. “Her friend abandoned her here ‘bout a week ago. She didn’t have no one-”

“She had white hair.” Sansa stated, already knowing the answer to the question. It was too perfect a tale, too precise and predictable. 

Gendry nodded slowly, taken aback. 

“I know her, Gendry. She didn’t abandon her friend.” Sansa said, her words gaining traction. She could see the confusion in his eyes, the wheels turning in his head. “They threw her out, they  _ chased her down-” _

__ Before she could finish, a door beside the shop creaked open. The door up to Petyr Baelish’s apartments.

“Oh, dear- I didn’t realize you were both out here in the cold. You could have knocked.” Petyr said, a chuckle escaping his lips. Sansa was frozen to the spot, wondering if he’d heard her.

_ Surely not,  _ she thought, eyeing the distance between where they stood and the door. It was far enough, she thought. She hoped.

“I came in the back door without telling you both, so I suppose that is on me.” He added, that small smile still on his lips. It had never looked so fake as in that moment.

“Thank you for walking me back, Gendry.” Sansa said politely, nodding to the man in front of her, still slightly stunned. He jolted back to life, nodding a few times too many at her before marching off in the other direction.

“He’s such an odd boy.” Petyr chuckled. “A good one, but odd nonetheless.”

“He’s very kind.” Sansa added, choosing her words wisely. Petyr nodded, his eyes finally weighing her up. If he had heard anything, he wasn’t going to bring it up now, it seemed.

“Come, I’ll show you to the spare room. I thought it would be much more comfortable than that hospital bed.” He said, beckoning her up the stairs in front of him.

“Thank you,” She said politely.

She tried not to feel his eyes on her, roving over her as she ascended the stairs in front of her. She tried not to let it affect her, tried to not let it sicken her.

_ You’ll have to be tougher than that,  _ she told herself sternly.

His apartment was just as impeccable as the way he presented himself- it was sparkling clean, with few decorations and creature comforts. It suited him, a fake, carefully created space. There was a small fireplace in the corner, with a few pictures spread across the mantle. By the looks of it, it was the only sort of personality in the place, and the only bit of humanity he was willing to showcase.

When they walked past, Sansa glanced up quickly at the pictures. The large one in the center showed a younger Petyr with one arm around a tall, slender redheaded woman. She looked remarkably like her mother, which made her catch her breath, but it was the other member of the family that made Sansa snap back to reality  _ hard. _

__ It was a little girl. A little redheaded girl, with a bright smile.

His daughter. 

_ He wasn’t lying about the daughter. _

Sansa schooled her features, trying to keep the realization to herself. Petyr either didn’t notice, or didn’t bother to bring it up. He showed her to the spare bedroom, allowing her to settle into the small space before he gave her a small smile. 

“If you need anything, I’m on the other side of this wall.” He told her, pointing to the wall beside the spare bed. She couldn’t mistake his statement for anything other than a warning.

“Thank you,” She said, hoping her polite chirps were armor enough for this man. 

“Of course.” Petyr shot back. He gave her a small smile as a goodnight, moving to quietly exit the room. He closed her door softly, his last words leaving a sour taste on her tongue.

“Anything for Catelyn’s daughter.”


End file.
